The Words You Never Wanted

January 15, 2018
By Myles Sullivan BRONZE, Clarkston, Michigan
Myles Sullivan BRONZE, Clarkston, Michigan
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

I.
Dear Mom,
I was brought into this world on a bright, sunlit June afternoon.
You welcomed me proudly
bold pinks, “It’s a girl!”,
countless expectations I would never end up meeting.

II.
Dear Mom,
You have always told me that I possess an old soul.
I want to believe you.
My soul became so weathered by your ice cold grip, your violent windstorms, your roaring thunderstorms,
You never realized you make me the way I am.
In my next life,
my soul will be born into a world of happiness
far, far from you
on the same bright, sunlit June afternoon.
My family will welcome me proudly,
calming blues, “it’s a boy!”

III.
Dear Mom,
In my next life,
perhaps I have fallen asleep at night
eyes dry, knowing you truly love me.
No longer regretting the day I was born,
no longer wishing death upon myself, or you.
I am happy, smiling, a little less insane.

IV.
Dear Mom,
The feeling of being rejected?
It burns, but you’ll survive.
The feeling of being rejected by your own mother?
There is no comparison.
First, you’ll feel numb.
Your lungs will shrivel,
your heart will burn- a hellish feeling worse than you can fathom.
Second, you’ll come to accept it.
It will be hard.
The internal battles between your brain and your heart will consume you.
Lastly, you will survive.
Scorched, bruised and broken
but alive.

V.
Dear Mom,
Becoming someone who is comfortable in their own skin, takes extreme guts and endless determination.
That is something you can never claim credit for me learning.
Accept the fact that I’ve grown up, watching you hide,
behind masks, behind lovers, behind money,
speaking nothing but false hopes and empty promises.

VI.
Dear Mom,
Are you understanding me now?
No? I’ll go on.

VII.
Dear Mom,
Every sunrise is a reminder of the once burning flame inside of my mind.
As long as that fire stays burnt out,
I drift back into a sleep-like state.
The girl I love calls it ‘disappearing’,
I classify it as being brain dead.
Bathrooms morph into battlefields and I am running out of moves,
for you hold the key to my playbook.

VIII.
Dear Mom,
It is almost over now.
You raised me in Hell,
so watch me dance in the clouds.
I will stop blaming you soon
I am learning to forgive. I am learning to overcome.
I’m becoming the man you never encouraged.
In the end, allow me to thank you for one thing.



IX.
Dear Mom,
Thank you.
For not accepting me.
It forced me to give myself the acceptance I deserve.

X.
Dear Dad,
I have not forgotten about you.
The voice you used, your words, “My boy.”
They have kept me going, kept me motivated,
playing on repeat in my head like an old favorite song.
Thank you.
For I do not know what I would have done without you,
if I only had her.


The author's comments:

This piece was inspired by an internal battle I’ve experienced due to my mother’s refusal to accept me for who I am.


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