I’d run away from you if I could
Truth is, I wouldn’t run to where you are, Ma. I’d run away from the storms you carry as you walk, and the hurricanes you let out as you speak. You scare me that my spine shivers when I see your glare, that I would tiptoe silently as if I didn’t exist when I hear the echoes of your heels on our marble floor.
What we have is the opposite of a typical mother-daughter relationship. One day you’ll ignore me much more than usual, one day you’ll profusely shout and throw things at me. Both of these instances will eventually be on me to reflect if it’s something I did or it’s because someone pissed you off at work.
You’ll easily shout things at me like you wished I’d never been born when things don’t go your way and in my head, I’ll convince myself that you didn’t mean any of it. I’ve forgiven you for the apologies you haven’t uttered yet and I’ve made a thousand excuses for your behavior because I understand how hard it must’ve been to transition into my mother.
Maybe your anger is just a way to hide how sad you are.
When I think of home, I wouldn’t run to where you are, Ma. But I’d run to you when a boy breaks my heart. I know you’d scrutinize me for being stupid enough to cry for a man, but I know what you would say is true.
I know I’d rather get stabbed by your brutally honest words than fall for a stranger’s flowery deception.
I’d run away from everyone if I could to the woman who gave birth to me.
