By Rai Mitra
I gave up on any kind of probability,
of redeeming myself from this spiral of self-mutilation.
Deep in my heart,
I know there is no point in trying now.
I cannot go back anymore.
I know.
I know that by heart.
Every day when I wake up,
I look in the mirror and ask,
"Is it just me?"
My skin peels open in silent protest.
I cannot stop anymore,
And I know that this time,
This time,
There's no coming back.
Ever since I was young,
I have never walked into a room,
Without whispers peeling the skin off my bones.
I have never walked into a room,
Without people talking about how famine lives in my body.
How my skin is as dark as the night,
That never sees the moonlight,
How hollow my cheeks are and how my face is,
My face is not radiant or glowing.
Rather,
It's dull and boring,
Hard to look at,
And even harder to love.
Mother, oh Mother,
You bore me for 9 months,
And moulded my body with your own flesh and bones.
You knitted me together,
With the threads of your blood.
Then why,
Why is it,
That I am still not enough for you,
To consider me
As a part of you?
How much more of me,
Do I need to lose?
To feel even just a tinge,
Just a tinge of your love?
Mother, oh Mother,
Forgive me for who I am,
For I am not worthy of your love,
For I am not worthy of anything
at all.
Mother,
Tell me something I have always been curious about.
If a mother’s love is supposed to be unconditional,
Then why have I been training myself like a circus animal?
To feel just a flicker of your love?
Mother,
Oh Mother,
I feel no emotions for you,
Other than hate, whatsoever.
But deep down,
I still love you.
I still love you, and I still crave you.
I still do everything to look good in your eyes.
I still do everything,
So that you love me a little more.
Mother,
Tell me something I have always been curious about.
If a mother’s love is supposed to be unconditional,
Then was it very hard to love me?
Even a little bit at all?
You killed me,
And my dreams.
If I ever bear a child,
Ever at all,
I hope to be never like you,
Not even a little bit at all.
Mother,
Oh Mother,
I have loved you,
Since the very day I started blinking.
But have you loved me too?
You gagged me with your dreams,
Till I could no longer breathe.
You left scars on my body,
At times with that leather belt,
Hanging on the doorknob,
Till I couldn't feel anything at all.
Mother,
Oh Mother,
I know you love me,
I know you love me too,
Because you taught me a lesson on what I should and should not do.
To the child I will bear and call my own.
Mother,
Oh Mother,
I hate you.
I hate you from every corner of my heart.
But I can't help,
But love you too,
From every corner of my heart.
Mother,
Oh Mother,
Was it really that hard?
To love me at all?
You loved the man whose hands smelled of guilt,
And dripped with the blood of your four-year-old daughter,
And you still do.
He is not even your flesh or your blood.
He is not even a part of you.
Then why him and not me?
I spent years,
Years trying to be him.
Him who?
Him who stripped me of my innocence when I was four.
Him whose fingers brushed past cotton and skin,
As if I were a curtain,
Meant to be drawn back.
And yet,
Yet you still couldn't love me.
His fingers,
I can still feel them to this day.
His touch,
It never really went away.
It lingered, like fingerprints in soft clay.
He cracked me open,
Not with force,
But with love and compassion.
His love and compassion,
So strong and raw,
That I can still hear it roar,
Between my legs and across my chest.
A fire I never lit,
Yet somehow,
It's still there,
Burning in the brightest shade of red.
Mother, oh Mother,
Tell me where I am going wrong.
Tell me,
How much more of me do I have to lose?
So that you can stitch your love into my name,
And no one else's.
Or am I asking for too much again?
How much more of me do I give to you?
Just so that you kiss me at night,
And say that you love me,
Like you do to my brother?