My mother didn't want to hurt me, but she was broken.
Her brokenness cut into me and made me bleed.
She didn't know how to love, or at least how to love me. It didn't even matter that she hurt me; I just wanted her to be sorry.
She said that she loved me, but it often felt like hate.
I suffered, and I did my best to love her.
As a woman, I have so much empathy for my mother, but as a daughter, I have so much anger.






















