I’ve come to the understanding
That my mother and I are two different people
We’re cut from different cloth
Our brain chemistry is made up of opposing stardust
I’ve agreed to harmful validation,
Just to temporarily bandage a void that’s been scar-tissue for decades
I can recall being enamored with real mothers on television
And growing envious of my friends for their own
I look into the eyes that are pieces of me
And wonder what my mother didn’t see in mine
While knowing at times, my own reflected the shine of hers too
Understanding is all I have left,
Because forgiveness is no longer an option