I Forgive You

A poem

I never gave you enough credit even though you hurt me embarrassed me and made me sever limbs and grow apart from you —

flee the old family home as if I’d burnt it all down.

I know you still loved me when you screamed inside your head and broke all the windows inside and told me you were clean that you’d never do it again I know you still loved me and you wanted to be my friend of course you did.

I know you’re sorry even though you don’t know how to say it I’m sorry too for being your only support I’m sorry that I can’t be your backbone anymore that I can’t be the ear that you pour all of your sadness into.

I can’t gather that and bottle it for you.

It makes me tired and frazzled a fraction of myself it makes my spine ache and my stomach burn it makes me check out from the people around me that shower me in love.

How could I ever accept that selfless type of love — the stuff that only people dream of?

The kind that mothers are supposed to give and you did but we rotted away playing grown up and house watching you trip like a child and beat your body down and scream bad things in your head when our hands were outreached and ready to catch you as you fell without question every time.

Pleading: momma get help get better we love you.

Because that’s what families do but you never came to those arms and slowly they slipped away it got quieter in us and louder in you deciphering what was true.

How does that feel? how does the poison taste now?

I’m sorry I’m not around as much anymore I don’t always answer the calls I don’t think I believe it will be the last time after all.

Do you know what honesty is? you taught me you should never lie and that my soul will go to a beautiful place if I’m really good when I die.

You taught me how to grow plants so I could grow away from you and you taught me to be kind because that’s what people in the Midwest do.

You somehow taught me to be everything and nothing like you.