Mom

She doesn't know

(how much)

she scares me.

Or how long her biting words nibble into me.

She doesn’t know how

(alone)

I feel.

Or how much I struggle to make decisions

(because I know she’ll never approve).

She doesn’t know how I flinch if someone offers a high-five.

Or how my eyes start to water at the sound of a raised voice.

She doesn’t know how much I want

(and fear)

a good man.

Or how her oversharing makes me want to become a nun and bathe in holy water.

She doesn’t know how I promised myself

(as a child)

that I’d never be like her.

Or how getting myself into college is my first step

(and getting out of my teens pregnancy-free is the second).

She doesn’t know how scared I am to leave her.

Or how scared I am that she’s already left me.