Dear Mother,

Do you see me now?

Sitting in front of you, smiling, seething?

Mother, do you see how angry I am?

Do you see the anger you gave me,

The red face, the hoarse voice, my heart beating out of my chest?

Mother, are you proud of me?

Proud of the way my voice carries, my hands shake, lips curl?

Mother, you wanted me angry.

You wanted me furious, ferocious, feisty.

Never calm. Never content.

Mother, you never wanted me to sit down and shut up.

You never wanted me to let my guard down, Mother.

I was raised to stand up, to scream, to burn it down.

BURN. IT. DOWN.

Everything burns eventually, Mother,

Even you. Even me.

Don’t worry, Mother, I’m going to fight. I’m going to scream.

I’m going to burn it down.

Ironically, Mother, I’m not angry at you. I appreciate the fire.

Sitting down makes you complicit. I will not be complicit.

Mother, watch me destroy.

Mother, watch me fight.

Mother, watch me burn.

Mother, watch me.

Mother, watch me.

Mother, watch me.

Mother, watch.

Mother, watch!

Mother?