Mom

Mom. 

The name that tastes like vinegar and feels like a strange wind escaping my lips. 

The name that should have held safety but was a giver of fear.

For how can I expect you to hold, when you were never held. 

A mother is as a mother was unless she learns to listen to the voice of healing. 

You never headed the call, you ignored the voice. You accepted the language of my ancestors, you gave into their might. How I longed for you to FIGHT. You weren’t weak, but you chose not to be strong. I looked at you and asked you to hold my softness gently. You held it like you were held. It became damaged and voiceless. I stopped fighting back, I did what you did. I became what you made me. 

I was trained like a dog on a leash to obey the command of fear. 

Every time I cried, I pushed back the tears; useless I would tell myself. 

I began rejecting every part of me that had fire, I turned submissive and lost all desire. 

Yes ma’am, you trained me to say. Respect is why, learn your place, obey. 

I was groomed to stay. 

Mom. Mother. Mommy. No, abuser, taker, lost. 

You wanted to feel seen, to feel safe yourself. I was never meant to be your worshiper. 

I was meant to be held. 

One day, I will be a mom and I will hold her because I FOUGHT. I fucking fought. With every fiber of my being and breath, I dedicated my life to giving that name meaning again. 

I headed the call, I listened to the voice, I said NO to the language of my ancestors. 

I learned a new language, and one day, I will teach it to the one who calls me mom.