My mother was agile.

Astute.

Bold. Brainy.

Crafty. Canny.

Resourceful.

Sharp. Shrewd.

Acute. Adept. Alert.

Genius.

Clever.

Good.

 

I’m worn.

Naïve.

Typical.

Blunt.

Apathetic.

Empathetic.

Paradoxical.

Lethargic.

Dowdy.

Dark.

 

I am everything my mother is never going to be.

I am the two wrongs that don’t make a right.

I am lost even though she may never be found.

I am loud because I can’t stand the silence.

My mother has never experienced silence.

The voices in her head leaving razor thin scars.

She fills blank pages because her mind has never felt blankness.

I sit in the dark because it’s as close to blankness that I am ever going to get.

I don’t hear voices, I feel them.

The laughs behind me make my wrists sting.

The smiles are always mocking.

I make the voices hurt.

The fake light hides my flaws.

The sun betrays me.

I crave the night every sunrise.

I crave the dark that my mother never saw.