Mama Come Clean

I can't say I know who you are or what it is that you fully want.
I think it's because you don't know who you are or what it is that you want.
The reason this is the case must be my fault.

I'm tired of these must's and should's.
I can only feel your resentment, anger - your complaints against my very way of being, your sweltering 24 years of rage against my very existence - that I was born.

You are my mother who couldn't be a mother.
You are the woman who offers me contempt when I wanted nurturing,
hurt when I needed to be held,
longing when I seek acceptance.

You are my mother. And I am your burden.