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Itsy Bitsy

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When I was little I witnessed my mom make the wall red,

The wall had a dent, and there was a lump on my brother’s head.

When I was little I witnessed my mom make my skin blue,

My leg looked like a canvas with the drawing of a shoe.

When I was little I heard my mom deny me as her daughter

Yet convince a strange man that he was my father.

When I was little I heard my mom yell with all her might,

Full of anger, every day she would pick another fight.

As I grew older I witnessed my brother and sister leave

My mom casted them away with a look of relief.

As I grew older I became my mom’s caretaker,

She would pull me out of school to take care of her everywhere.

As I grew older my mom’s web of lies became untangled,

Yet nobody cares how many lives my mom has mangled.

They think it’s okay and that we should just forgive and forget,

But she’s the contribution to all the problems I regret.

I have never once heard my mom apologize for any of her actions

              And she will never understand that she has caused horrible reactions.

Yet she is the one who took hold of me you see my real mommy wasn't very motherly.

I don't know if should be grateful or hateful, I mean she took care of me but made me unstable.

I suppose it's okay today

she helped influence who I am

I just need to let things go and enjoy life as much as I can.

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Wow...  This is a lot to take in, and a lot to put out there.  This reminds me of how I was told my own mother grew up.  She was taken out of school at the age of about 12 to help take care of her siblings. 

 

I once had to write in order to not go in-sane.  I had very little left in my life that I hadn't lost to my own obsessions and carelessness.  It helped me hang on until I could find the self worth to go on with life.  I have great respect for all writers but the ones that can stir my emotions I hold dear.

 

All the best,

Bryan

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I understand your work all too well.  I know what it is to be a child facing the belt, bloody welts split in the middle, enduring it through will alone.  I am not sure that our writing arts always help us.  Sometimes my artistic attempts seem to damage me.  Perhaps it is a good damage?  That probably depends on whether you are making sense of things or riding the dark slide down into obsession and despair.  It seems clear that the mother character is lashing out, that damage had been the point of her behavior.  I am guessing that substance abuse was a factor.  Certainly there was some form of profound mental illness in operation.  Also, moral illness.  Existential issues.

 

I hope that you are well. There is a sadness in your photo that touches my emotions.  You take care of yourself.  I suggest honing your significant verbal talent while recalling that one may be cut while sharpening things.  

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You certainly are talented with words. Unless there was drugs, or alcohol involved here, this to me is a mother that was,

or is bi-polar and should have been diagnozed and put onto proper medication years ago.

Her anger with the world and her lashing out to everyone closest to her is a classic example

of mental instability. What a pity she was not dragged off to the doc. I know a number of people

who are bi-polar that acted in that exact same manner before getting the correct treatment and now

that they are on controlled prescribed treatment,  they are happy, stable and well balanced.

Perhaps it's not too late if she is still alive? If she is, and she is treated with the correct medication, you might find that you

finally will get to know the mother that she should've been all those years ago !!!! And it might be late but rather late than never.

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