Two things can exist at the same time: deep love and deep disappointment. The invisible pact of dutiful daughters. Hard to write; harder to feel. Raw but real. So much work to heal.

It's hard to write. It's hard to think. Barely can create. The moment you realize that someone- who is supposed to take care of your heart, make you feel protected but never did- will come to you with their hands out and take and take and take as soon as you get your grounding. They say they love you. They know you, they say. They think they really do. Maybe this is the only love they know how to give. Not the love you've always craved.

They take when you have nothing left to give. Right after you pull yourself outta real danger. When you produce a miracle outta raw faith and prayers. Saved your family and yourself. You learn how much like your mother you really are, how strong she's had to be with no support. She still conditioned us to protect your image but told us nothing of how to protect our hearts. Like you are only here to serve no matter what. Like what you went through means nothing, like your slow death in front of your children is something so small compared to his immediate needs. Him first, even when you never were. You gotta be everything because he needs: mother, father, daughter, son, garbage man, caretaker, caregiver, cook, bread winner, sounding board, forgiver and forgetter of all things past. Sacrificial love starved. To hold up some invisible pact that daughters have.  Ask nothing/be indifferent of the hole you'll always have in your belly, the questions never asked, the questions asked but ignored, the questions met with loud, screaming indifference that highlights your flaws, not their responsibility. The accusations, the lessening of power, the lessoning of being, the cutting off of truth... unless you got something for them. Do something for them. Even bleed while doing it.
It ain't no room for you or creativity or the wellness from a safe space you fought for and created. All because you are nice, you care. You are fair. You are dutiful.
I'm not going down. I'm not going anywhere. I claim this space. I claim my place. Fuck with me and you'll really get to know me. I'm here for me. Be unevolved in your own space. Everybody has the right to be, in their own space.
I want the very best for us all, but not at my expense anymore. I choose me first. I love me more. Not on my watch. I ain't the long suffering type. 

Whatever you thoughtlessly take in the name of love, in the name of entitlement: I ain't going down. Fuck that. I am here. I am quite clear. Sorry ain't enough. Like you'd ever apologize. 

Fix it so I can forgive and forget it. Fix it. I hate that I understand it all. I give thanks for the awakening. Now go, so I can fix me and mines the way I like it. This is my time. Ain't no one gonna take it. Not even you. 

I still love you. I can't grow a grown up that ain't me or come from my womb. Painful and necessary work. The cycle stops here. 

I will walk through this wilderness equipped with truth, prayer and love.
You don't know me. I hope you do some day. It'll be the greatest healing. Fix it. I am a grown woman with childhood pain. Hidden and disregarded to keep the lines open.

To the one whose mistakes are always forgiven or placated: only you can change this dynamic. I can only change my mind and my loyalty. 

Fix it, so I won't transform into stone wall, cold heart, forced movements towards you. I don't wanna shut down. 

I accuse you of expecting a child's love but it's me still demanding protection, acknowledgement, real, tangible love. Selfless love. One where we all win and I benefit from your strength and wisdom. If I can't, I must choose accordingly. 

I'm not a girl with a burning throat and a silent voice. I'm a woman coming into her own on her own terms. 

Get to know who I am now. No more manipulation, no more passive agressiveness. No more thoughtlessly navigating though my exhaustion and pain for your benefit.
This is it. I'm spent. I need my whole head. Find out how to love me now.