She used to drink her Pepsi with milk and treat me like a mother should.
she burnt every meal ever cooked in that little apartment
but she tried very hard and I loved her for that.
I loved her unconditionally, because that’s just what little girls do.
her and I shared the same wide smile that showed off our rosy cheekbones,
but I knew as she looked at me, she also saw a piece of my father.
maybe my straight light brown hair,
or the stubborn look on my face caught her eye.
I could always tell, she wasn’t just smiling at my face, but my fathers as well.
There was pride in that. Daddy’s little girl.
Yet as I grew older, my mother & father fought.
He spit embers with his words & they burn tiny holes into my mother’s clothes.
All she sees is that tiny mouth of mine shaped just like his, ready and armed.
There is a likeness in my temper, in my eyes and there is no stopping what I cannot change.
Yes, I am my father’s child.
He is safe and kind and who I have known all my life.
& he may not belong to you anymore, Mother.
I know that.
But I am still supposed to be yours.
Please come back.