I tried to write a poem about you, but I accidentally wrote about my mother.
I didn't want her toxic influence to smother what I felt for you.
You tried to make a point about me, but you intentionally wrote about my mother.
You used her toxic influence to smother what I feel for you.
There are more than 26 letters we share in an infinite number of combinations you could have stacked to build this fucking wall between us. Instead, you invoke voices you've never heard to say words I've always heard, and it doesn't hurt any fucking less.
I haven't written about you, but I'm writing about her because you brought her into this.
Here's a secret: you don't have to tell me not to be like her because I'm not like her.
If I were, my words would leave scars on your heart that drive you to make scars on your body
because that's how ruthlessly cruel she is in her misery.
And when you hurt, you make others hurt,
and really, there's not a drop of blood between you,
but you're more her daughter than I'll ever be.