Hands

Some hands are blood stained, some are clean. Mine are tear stained. Stained with my own and the ones I caused my mother. The ones she shed when I told her she wasn't my mom anymore, the ones she shed when I was in pain. Tear stained hands are almost as bad as blood stained. I will never feel as if they're clean or as if I'm clean for the pain my mother felt due to me. She should've lived a life she wanted, been happy and even loved. But she couldn't do that with me. I remember her saying she stopped taking her bpd meds because she was gaining weight but I always thought she was the prettiest person I've ever seen and at times I still think she is. She's still my mommy but I guess I'm just cursed with being a little girl mourning her mom and needing her mom for the rest of my life. I'll never escape this pain and fear of being abandoned, even if I was the one who abandoned her. Even if I was the one so cruel to her. She suffered because of me and now I'm suffering because of her. Just an endless cycle of mother daughter pain.