Mindfuq.

Well, I’ve been trying to find out exactly how to put into words what I’ve been experiencing since my return from seeing my daughter (possibly for the last time ever).
On the day after her eighteenth birthday, she disappeared and left me to swallow the reality that she could truly care less about our extremely strained relationship ever getting better. I spent the next day and a half alone and in tears, until it was time to catch my flight back home. I knew it would only be a matter of time before she burned the bridges (as rickety as they were to begin with) between she and her “girlfriend’s” family and people; before she found herself excluded from whatever setting she had been so compelled to ditch me for.
Of course, I was right. It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done to actually leave that place by my own will, seeing as how I truly feel as if I’ve walked slowly away from the arena in which she will be tortured and killed eventually. The years of her teenaged life have been spent with her running away – running away – running away…and now that she’s an “adult”, there’s no chasing her anymore. And, that’s what it all comes down to for me I guess, is the fact that I’ve spent so many years in having to “force” my way into her life, if I wanted to be there at all…which is anything but a good feeling when it comes to one’s only child.
Boo has found her way, once again, to right where she undeniably wants to be: a place where she is regularly treated like an animal by grown men who buy her for a few hours at a time to use as they like, before tossing her aside (if she’s lucky). The lies that she spent our time together in telling me only make my blood boil in retrospect:
“You never have to be on the street, Boo; you know as long as I have a roof over my head, so do you…”

“I’m done with that lifestyle Mom…I know that I deserve better than that…”
Her father was the master of telling me what I wanted to hear in order to get me to fall in line with his bullshit…and the older she gets – the more she makes his ways seem so feeble and small. I haven’t heard from her since that day…May 14th 2015; and now I am once again living in that mindfuq place where I am afraid to answer my phone again. I am back to waiting for that call in which I am told that she has been found dead somewhere in a garbage pile. It hurts. Bad.

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Hotboxed Minivans.

I go back and forth over those upcoming days:
do I dress myself up for Boo’s eighteenth birthday?
do I play myself down and just let her have space?
I will spend the first in silent awe of her beautiful face…

it’s so difficult to describe to anyone who may be asking –
in any words or phrases in any language that is known to me,
the deep losses and emptiness that linger above me, cloudily,
my mind feels confined to the place that’s defined by utter misery…

to be a mother to a daughter who’s lit the darkest of my nights,
a little girl who centered my world when nothing else felt right,
a little spirit whose existence is eternally intertwined with mine,
but, my girl has grown up to hold her standards anywhere but high…

most parents are worried about colleges and hot-boxed minivans,
my motherly fears are so vast and sincere, it has hijacked who I am,
after the few days we get for her birthday and high school graduation,
and to wrap it up – I have to leave there without her once again…

to have a daughter who calls you “Mama”,
and she brags about how young I am to her friends,
the absent parent, ‘Orphan Annie’ over-glorifications,
if she only knew how hard I’ve fought to stand in line and fall in…

things have gone so horribly wrong since they broke our family,
they’ve pushed her further and further so inconspicuously,
built a framework in her state of mind that disregarded me,
it’s not the eighteenth birthday party I’ve been imagining…