C Is For Cracked

The crack runs down my face to my chin.

One side is who I think I am

The other side is scarred, burned and tossed away.

She splits me from the person I know as myself.

Her words take away half of me and dumps that part into the fire.

She says she is whole and loving and strong.

She declares she is separate from me

She yanks part of my life away.

She writes.

I am not the mother she longed for. I am self centered and selfish.

Since she was a child only my interests came first.

She continues the harsh assessment.

Because of her disappointment in me and my lack of love for her

She cannot love her life with me in it.

I wonder at this disappointment.

Is this the child who once took my hand into her daily adventures?

Or is this her own reflection in these written words?

In the descending silence and pouring tears

I remember the little girl

Happy and excited to be with her Mom

Sharing her adventures through life.

Now there are no adventures or excitement

This person that I thought I knew is a stranger. Is it her or is it me?