Mother’s Day

I am bitter.

I am bitter and it seems so silly, after everything she put me through but I’m bitter all the same.

I am bitter that I didn’t get more time.

I am bitter that life goes on and she doesn’t. I am bitter that the birds can go on singing while my heart caves in my chest.

I am bitter that the sun is shining and giving warmth while I sit in the shadows of grief, cold to the bone.

I am bitter over the cute Mother’s Day posts my friends share, while I share my sadness to all who will listen.

I am bitter while I sit here watching a little girl and her mom colour with chalk on the sidewalk, an experience I’d been robbed of.

I am bitter that she gave up, gave into her addictions.

I am bitter over all the years spent watching her waste away to nothing, until she was a shell of the woman I called Mom.

I am bitter that I have her eyes, that I have to see her staring back at me every morning in the mirror.

I am bitter that she robbed me of my childhood, let me watch horrid things that tore the innocence from my soul.

Im bitter that I’ve survived 14 years without her.

I am bitter that I love her, bitter that I miss her.

I am bitter that I hate her, and wish I could yell at her.

I am bitter that I cannot remember her voice, long ago lost to memory.

I am bitter that I’ll never feel her arms wrapped around me again, never feel her warmth.

I’m bitter.