Which shitty mother from this list is yours? I got Narcissist.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/tech-support/201502/8-toxic-patterns-in-mother-daughter-relationships

Call her a narcissist if you wish. This mother sees her daughter—if she sees her at all—as an extension of herself and nothing more. Unlike the enmeshed mother who is intently and smotheringly focused on her child, this mother carefully controls her involvement as it suits her own self-reflection. A power player, she’s incapable of empathy; instead, very concerned with appearances and the opinions of others. Her emotional connection to her daughter is superficial—although she would fiercely deny that if you asked—because her focus is on herself. The tactics she uses to manipulate and control her daughter permit her to self-aggrandize and feel good about herself.

These mothers often look great from the outside—they are usually attractive and charming when you meet them, take great care of their homes, and may have admirable talents and careers—which serves to confuse and isolate the unloved daughter even more. It is, alas, easier to recognize that you are playing the role of Cinderella (and it was an evil mom, not a stepmother, until the Grimm Brothers cleaned up the tale) when you are living in the cellar and everyone knows your mother is a hag.

Hearts, kisses, and bullshit, Georgia

 

I celebrated you

when you thought

that what you were doing

was shameful

 

because i don’t know,

i guess I loved you.

and i thought your art

was beautiful

because you took joy in it

 

but i am not going to tear down

the blood and bones and ink

that went into my writing

just because someone said

it was disturbing

even if you are

yet again

that person

 

I am not the person

i have always been

I denounce the name

you gave to me

I become my pseudonym

 

 

Across the Street- Georgia Park

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

Is it my tendrils of smoke, the scent of my shampoo

or my dog’s panting that rises up to the third floor apartment

of the brick building across the street

 

where you poke your head out of that window

to ask me if id like something to eat,

something specific, always;

pizza, a meatball sub,

or something else entirely

as when you inquire if im dirty

and would like the bath with bubbles

you’re already drawing,

would my dog like to come with me?

 

and I know it’s not just me.

that alleyway’s past was marked

by heavy foot traffic

before your inquiries,

and it’s not just women;

a fact that comforts me.

 

You are well taken care of

attired in bright sweaters,

warm and clean.  And gracious

enough to always offer something

i catch you alone sometimes,

bent forward and whispering

 

It’s clear that you…

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