𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐋𝐗𝐕

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔𝟓: 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

When I like to forget I'm see-through
I try to hide out, you always find out
And when I'm way down, you're my safe house
We built from the ground, guess I'm home now

𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐁𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒, 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀
𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟎:𝟏𝟎 𝐚𝐦

||  I lost myself. ||
— 𝐒𝐘𝐑𝐄

ఌ

Dear Ma,

I wish I could start this shit by genuinely making it clear despite everything I do love you, but I don't know if I can. Cause I don't know how true it'll be if it's not said from default.

I question a lot of shit with the older I get, with the more experiences of my own that I have. For a long time I brushed shit off simply cause I didn't have the knowledge or experience to arrange thoughts in my mind that could pen a letter. Drugs and alcohol together are enough to shut all that shit down from the past, act like it ain't ever happened and crown you mother of the year. It was easy to make excuses when I didn't have 4 sets of eyes on me everyday, who I got to tip toe around and just pray I don't fuck up with.

You didn't love me, or at least not the way a mother should love her son. I won't ever forget all the times I came to you in tears, searching for my mother to embrace me and help me after the shit I had to go through at the hands of your husband which you knew about. I won't ever forget your eyes on me, watching me so blank as if you ain't even know me. Like you was completely brainwashed or something, so blindly giving everything to a nigga and putting your kids in last place...or maybe just me, since Isabelle was his princess.

And I accepted this shit, all of it. When you raised on that type of stuff, that's the view you have on reality. I remember you hated Amerie when I got locked up, tried to convince me she was bad for me when really it was your own jealousy. You knew, and you know I put her above you and always will. There will never be a time where she's second to you, or second to anyone and that's a truth I can't do anything about because it'll never change.

I think on ya trauma and the shit you been through, use that as my own crutch to make myself feel a little better. But then I open my eyes, and I go home where I'm surrounded by the love of my life who'd give her last breath to our kids if she needed to. That's not a love that can be faked, those kids are why she breathes and that's where I learned a mother's love is something that cannot be faked by a mother who doesn't love. It can be mimicked, but never the real thing.