i thought it was all good and dandy,

truly.

going to the park with the fam

yahtzee game nights

running errands together

home cooked puerto rican meals

i started to know my mother,

truly.

once i got a little more old

a little more curious

a lot less gullible

i started to know my mother when she wasn’t just a mother to me

she became a person in my eyes

a person that had a lot on her shoulders

a person with stories to tell

a person who lost to her demons

but a person that undermined my happiness and antagonized my demons

my sisters and i actually couldn’t have fun;

we weren’t allowed to.

this wasn’t explained to us

so when we were gathered around the TV one day

laughing as siblings do,

it didn’t make sense when my mother busted out her room–

“what’s so funny”

she said

“i know y’all are laughing at me”

she accused, in the silence and disbelief

i’m sorry.

i wish i would have known our smiles were so threatening.

i didn’t know eating normally was offensive to her lifestyle of

coffee

and cigarettes

and powder

for most meals

the empty cabinets demanded our cries for help

but the guilt my mother imposed on us required our obedience

i didn’t even know that while she gave us life, she wished death upon having us in her life

upon her responsibilities

as a parent

upon the success of her "softball team" of 3 sons and almost 7 daughters;

she reminded us constantly that we only exist because of her

she wanted us to be her trophies

but we were her kids,

and we exist in spite of her.

ignorance is not bliss.

never when you’re being used,

and never when you’re in the cloud of somebody else’s mess

i would rather feel the semi comfort in knowing that

i will never know my mother

than believing that i knew her in the first place.