stairs

Stairways

that's where it always was,

when I'd be assured that you loved me.

You've always loved me.

Mom would cradle me to her chest.

(and yes, she wasn't perfect)

but I resented her for hushing me,

calming me, lulling me to sleep

I wanted her to hate you,

so I could know,

it was okay to hate you like I did.

instead-

in a generic melody, she'd sing to me.

her lips, wet with my tears.

she'd sing that you loved me,

you've always loved me.

You'd say:

Wasn't it obvious

with my barbie doll trickery?

my disneyland love?

my occasional stories, and charming wit?

Doesn't your mother love you enough?

Doesn't she bare the strength of Samson,

with the heart of a mule?

Doesn't she feed you?

Hush baby,

it's mommas fault.

your serpentine tongue

always did salivate at the chance

of ruining the only things

I've ever loved.

Like the time you ruined my dolls,

my beautiful, beautiful dolls.

Like the time you ruined my mother.

my beautiful, beautiful mother.

It's her fault we can't be close,

and it's my fault for being born

and if I don't love jesus more,

and if I don't smile more.

And if I can't call you first

then what's the point?

"My darling child"

you'd hum,

you're so angry

you're so weak

you're so tired

you're so old.

You're just like you're mother.

At the staircase on the third step

the step with the creak

that would squeel at night

when I'd steal cokes from the fridge.

I'll curl up on my mothers lap

(the lap you hate)

listening to her defend my name

my 6 year old name

my 12 year old name

my 15 year old name

my 18 year old name.

I'd listen to you -

like the time you broke my beautiful dolls

like the time you broke my beautiful mother.

and she'd scream

she'd cry.

and she'd hang up.

"he loves you baby, just not today."

suddenly the sound of your voice.

was the first taste of the carmel carbonation

the drink that is too painful to swallow.

the drink that makes you sneeze.

"You're just like your mother."

Didn't you tell me

just yesterday

that you hated her?

And I'm just like my mother.

so beautiful

so funny

so free.

And I'm just like my mother.

spiteful.

angry.

hurt.

Look into these eyes of mine,

these eyes of my mother.

shout at me,

guilt me,

I only ask

that you look into these eyes,

they are the eyes of my mother.