Dear mother,

 

You

were naive, and

young, and

not ready for any

of this.

But you wanted this.

You wanted this, unprepared.

Blinded.

I was handed off,

young enough to talk

and walk

too young to notice

the fragments.

You were

there

but not often.

I learned and

I grew and 

I

found.

Now the person you know

as me

no longer exists.

But you,

still naive,

blinded, but

older.

My identity, covered, gagged

tossed away

is leaking from my cracks.

How much longer can

I keep this up?

You did not

think

you did not

prepare.

Now I am left

surrounded by acceptance letters

to places I can not afford.

The help we can get

will not be enough.

What am I

supposed

to do?

My dream,

my calling,

is to

costly.

And you

could have waited

could have saved

could have thought

ahead.

Now I'm broken

and it's

pointless.

All because

of

you.

 

From,

a child,

yours, I guess.