A mothers word is sacred. We depend on her lessons to navigate the world. She was the first to pick our clothes, our hairstyle, our schoolbags. She was the first to teach you of fashion and makeup. She was the first to teach you of friendship, what to say and how to care for something. She taught you of growth and of guidance. But the one thing i wish she never taught was how to hate. The words of disgust spewed out of her mouth as if this wasn’t the woman who had taught me love. As if this person wasn’t the shining moon and stars to me. I would sit in silent confusion while the person i considered perfect and my glowing aspiration ripped herself apart. Comments of her weight as I sprawled across her lap, proud to be in her presence. Disappointed tears ran through makeup as I sat struck in awe. It was confusing to watch the thing you though was beauty and perfection in human form, call itself the opposite. The words you never doubted for a second, teaching you to twist and morph a reflection. The voice who consoled all thoughts telling me of self hatred; teaching me to angle and turn in desperate pleading with the mirror to change its image. I wish that my mother, whose words mapped the complexities of life, hadn’t taught me that.
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