you always leave, even when you're there

I try to find the words 

yet they are honey-covered

horse shit compared to 

what I want to say. 

What I could say 

if I ever grew a backbone. 

If I ever learned how I got to

this page of the story. 

When I cried was it to quell 

my own fears,

or to give you a purpose? 

Who am I, if not in relation to you? 

Yet how powerful I become

in your absence. 

I thought I wanted to know you

and people are quick to condemn

a daughter that says no,

I don't really have that type,

that special type, 

of relationship with my mother. 

I wouldn't know.

Because I am just the sloughed off 

skin;

My mother's daughter.