Remember how crisp the air was when you realized you’re my little clone? I raise my arm, you raise yours. I say I’m right, you teach others what I’ve taught you. I close the curtains during sunrise, you remain awake in the dark. But now you’ve grown. I overeat, you undereat. I stay home, you go out. I keep to myself, you broadcast your life. You barely speak to me. You saw an empty bottle and thought you were reliving your childhood. I got it under control. You worry about you and how much your hair sheds. How easily your skin bruises. How you can barely hold down food.
Your problem isn’t me. It’s within you. My little clone. Lift your chin when you raise your voice. Look at me. Repeat what you said. Such animosity toward the one who raised you. You were once nestled in my womb. You plopped out and cried and there I was. Holding you against my breasts. One day, you got bigger. You were heavier to lift. You knew more words. Where’d you learn the word “negligent”? Was it from your 2nd gr…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to maydayhobby to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.