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.