Mom

mother? do you love me? no, really? or do you love the idea of a daughter that can carry your pain when you choose not to carry it yourself. I had the assumption that you love me because you're meant to like every mother is supposed to but even then, every crack in our conversation turns to a canyon of disappointment. I get why you argue with me out of the blue, because deep down you're mad at yourself, too. is it because I act too much like you? mother, do you remember hugging me after months of not speaking because you were angry. mother, do you know that after every time we throw stones the glass around us shatters. mother, do you know that I'll still love you even after you hurt me. just admit, that I'm turning into someone you don't want me to be, someone who doesn't take your pain away, the empty promises, the hate. The only reason that you yell is because you can't come to terms with it yourself. mother, do you know that I love you but I don't know if you like me. Do you know that everything I put myself through was so you could be happy. I know a healthy relationship from us is something sweet to imagine but too complex to be true. so I ask you one more time. mom. do you love me, like I love you?