My mother is a narcissist, and it sucks.

I’m a monster.

How could I be so cruel and heartless?

You did this to me.

A lifetime of dealing with you did this to me.

I imagine punching you, kicking you, breaking you.

I imagine stabbing you with needles. I imagine lighting things on fire.

I imagine trapping you under a blanket and screaming at you until I can finally make you understand.

It wouldn’t work.

You’ll never understand; you don’t want to.

I know it’s true, but sometimes I scream my feelings at you anyway, in hope that, maybe this time, it will click.

Maybe this time I’ll find the words that force you to see.

I’ve tried a lot of words over the years.

I guess a lot of them were hurtful, but only because I’m trying to show you my hurt.

I want so badly for you to understand the way I feel.

But I guess you only ever understood your own pain.

So I’m angry and violent and irrational.

I screech and scratch and shove and pull and twist.

There is shock and horror in your face, as if I didn’t learn all of this from you.

You taught me that making them fear you was how you show someone your love.

I don’t know why you’re surprised at how I turned out.

How could your daughter be anything but what you are?

I am a monster by birth and by necessity.

It was the only way I could have survived.

But I’m better than you.

I slay monsters, too.

And I am not exempt from my own sword.

I am a monster for you, and you alone.

(I know you like it when things are all about you)

When you die, I’ll be free.

This toxic bloodline stops with me.

I can’t help what I am, but I won’t poison anyone else.

I am thrilled to disappoint you.

So spare me the manipulative