Mother

Processing an unhealthy childhood.

You did the best you could.
I believe that,
I think.

Pain does not course through you like a river,
it is a deep, fathomless ocean.
I see that.
I didn't always.

You love me.
I know that.
But the demons in you rose from the depths, and you did not stop them.
You could not stop them.
I know that,
I think.

I go through the phases of grief each time I think of you.
Which phase am I, today?

You did the best you could.
The version of you I love, did, at least.
I struggle with these demons
you've bequeathed to me.

There is only so much room
for our shared demons
and our shared love.
Which will win, today?

You did the best you could.
Today I can say that.
Tomorrow I may not.

Author's Note

This is the first poem I've written in years. It came to me very suddenly, and I was surprised how raw it left me after writing it. I wish all the best to those who resonate with similar experiences to mine.