Pain in the Ass
From the moment I was born I have been
a complete pain in my mothers ass,
literally, red faced and over eager to escape
where I came from, I broke her tailbone.
She doesn't find it as funny as I do.
When I was five I took to enabling
my sisters attempts at escape.
Making tense trips past the cold room
where my mother worked,
unlocking the well loved green door
right within my sisters line of sight.
The only thing that beat seeing her
stubby, toddler legs carry her through
the crisp, dying grass was watching
my mother, always so poised and perfect
haul ass after her.
When I was seven, I was a fairy.
I climbed to the very top of the rusty
playground, taking only a moment to glance
at the rotten mulch down below before
leaping into the air. I believed I would get my wings.
I got a shattered arm and a wake up call.
My mother still swears I held eye contact
the entire way down.
When I was fourteen I took to sneaking out,
with my skirt short and blue eyeliner thick.
Well paved suburban streets beneath
my kitten heels affirmed my adulthood with
every dull click. That was until a familiar
beat up white Subaru pulled around the
corner, and my mom got out.
When I was eighteen, I was back to where
I started, red faced and over eager to escape
where I came from. Moved as far as I could
get within state lines, dyed my hair and skin,
proving a point to myself more than anyone.
When my mother looks at me she is
no longer looking in a mirror,
She seemed to expect this result,
as every development is greeted
with no more than a thin lip and
a roll of the eyes.
She doesn't find it as funny as I do,
but she still calls every Sunday.