Growing up with a father in the heavens and a mother from hell—
I dreamt of his warm embrace and feared her cold stares.

Forced to raise myself,
Cast as both the mother and child in my own movie,

Teaching myself how to braid my untrimmed hair and tie my overused shoelaces,
Forging signatures on permission slips and walking to and from school in the snow,

Burning my hands on the hot water when I try to make macaroni,
Dinner time comes and still she is nowhere to be found,

Flipping through the television channels, one by one,
Daddy used to watch every Sunday evening.

The front door slams open as my mother stumbles in,
I smell the stench of alcohol and smoke from here.

She staggers to her bedroom and falls on the bed,
Invisible to the consequences and responsibilities of maternity,

I will never be a mother,

Biologically chained to obnoxious cries and whiny voices.

Swore to myself I’d never do this,
But here I am.

Sitting on my bathroom floor twenty three years later,
Holding a small blue stick decorated by an even smaller plus sign.