Forever My Perfect and Own Worst Enemy

Forever my perfect and own worst enemy.
The truth though subjective, clear enough for a blind man to see.

The flood of emotion pushes detachment out the door.
As the blood rushes to my feet and my knees fall to the floor.

It’s too late to beg now or barter.
No clue why I had to be born a Martyr.

My soul is tired and worn I want to be done.
Tired of appeasing the inner child, the angry one.

I’m sorry you don’t have blissful memories of playing in the summer sun.

Instead you have nights haunted by the monsters by your bed.
Can’t tell if they’re real or all in your head.

Monsters pretending to be your best friend.
But they steal your innocence every night. When will it end?

Is it ironic or just plain dumb?
That on the surface you’ll give your trust away to almost anyone.

Still can’t figure out how this all came to be.
I had my life together for one and all to see.

Then one day it all just fell apart.
Sour memories on the tip of my tongue so tart.

In 2010, I gave birth to the most beautiful daughter.
But my fears took me over, my soul was bothered.

“It happens to all girls,” my Mama said.
And as my baby grew older the worry grew in the back of my head.

Looking at her beautiful face put me back in 1988.
When my mom traded me the first time and sealed my fate.

“We’re going to Mickey D’s,” the fat one exclaimed.
But instead we pulled into the steel mill parking lot; one got out and the fat one remained.

Looking down at my feet, swinging black and white saddle shoes.
Red Jordache jeans and a cow on my shirt that moos.

The fat one reclines his seat all the way back.
After this my memory fades and it starts to lack.

Fat, stubby fingers unbuttoning my jeans.
The other guy comes back and at me he leans.

Back to the stale, smoke ridden house I’m in tears.
Wish I had the words to tell her but I’m only two years.

The lady dials my mom on the beige rotary dial phone.
I cry “Mama…pease, wanna go home.”

But she laughs at my tears something sinister.
She knew all along…there’s something wicked within her.

Back to today, I’m a mom with two kids to protect.
But my mental health all those years I did neglect.

2014, my worst nightmare would unfold.
I can’t grasp the words out of her mouth at 3 years old.

I dealt with it the way any loving mother would.
She’ll never say HER mama didn’t do all she could.

So come up with all your conspiracy theories.
Falling to my knees alone in that hospital eyes teary.

Like I would put her through that for some vile, selfish gain?
Reliving my own nightmares and putting her through pain!

Tell me I’m crazy, I always over react.
Maybe because my Mama didn’t and that’s a fact.

Sometimes I wish y’all could walk a day in my shoes.
So I can ridicule you for the choices you choose.

Can’t regulate or process the emotions inside.
So you curl up in the closet, your safest place to hide.

Ten years old fastening your own belt to the rod.
Latch it tight around your neck, you blink then you nod.

Suddenly awake, choking and gasping for air.
Desperate to unravel the belt, you don’t want to die in here.

So you pop another one of your brother’s Ritalin.
As you lay in the bed they took for you from the garbage bin.

Don’t think about the past, just get over it.
If I hear that one time, I’ll have a real fit.

I wish I could be who I was before the tragedy, long before then.
But I sabotage myself there’s this losing war within.

So when I feel like a failure I turn to the pills and the drink.
They ease my pain as I wash away the blood from my cuts in the sink.

Never received affection or validation from my mom.
Tried real hard but got rejected, I’ve been a ticking time bomb.

All I really want is to find some strength.
But why do you all go to such great lengths.

To punish me for my transgressions as if you’re God.
So I throw on my game face, this careless empty facade.

Wake up and I want to sniff and smoke my pain away.
Because even when I’m sober you won’t let me be a mom each and every day.

It feels as if nobody truly understands me.
Forever my perfect and my own worst enemy.

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