I’m Not Sorry

I don’t exactly remember what you look like until I see your photo but I remember your voice, your hands and your eyes. The rest of you escapes me.

Photos of you as a child show such sadness only I feel no sympathy for you. I know what was done and how horrible it was yet I feel no sorrow for you.

I’m not sorry nor am I happy that she beat you, but  I am sorry you chose to beat me. I’m not sorry nor am I glad that you were molested and raped, but I’m sorry that you CHOSE to do those things to me. I’m sorry that you blew a chance to turn our family’s legacy around.

I’m not grieved by nor am I pleased that your heart breaks because you know your mother doesn’t love you. I’m sorry that you CHOSE not to love me. I’m not sorry that you hated having me as a daughter. If I was such a horrible, horrible person and you decided to keep me anyway, why, that was your choice too.

. .

I’m sorry that you gave birth to me. Sometimes I wish I’d never been born or that I could have died under your hand one of those many times. Sometimes I wish it.

fma