In or out, mom?

Never sure.
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I was never sure of anything, never sure.
Never sure when she would call, days from now, weeks, or most the time months.
I let myself fall into this sickening black hole when ever she didn't call, or even when she did call only to talk for a second if that, and sometimes when she promised she'd be here to get me in an hour, only to never show.
Looking back at all those books, shows, and even at school with the kids who had the mother, the loving mother.
It all seemed like a crul joke now, like everyone was laughing at me because I was the one with the mother who didn't care, who got to pick when she wanted in or out.
In my life when she pleased, out till she wanted in again.
I want to her hate her for it.
For all the pain she causes, for all the tears that I've shed over her, for making me feel like I was to be blame, for making me feel unimportant and worthless.
I wanted to.
The sad thing?
I can't, I just can't.
I want to put her out of my life, for me to pick when she can and can not come into my life. To rule her out.
I want these thing, true. But I just can't seem to follow up on them. Always happy when she called, before hanging up saying 'I love you' sometimes, and even when she did say them I made myself grasp on to them, not leting them go, even when they seemed so far away, like the music on the radio fading...
Even now, it's like instead of me having control she does.
Picking drugs over me, her blood, her flesh, her daughter.
Ruling me out, just as I wanted to rule her out.

Not like her.
-
I found myself trying not to be like her, thinking about the steps she must have taken, and trying to avoid them, trying to make my own path.
I don't want to follow in her foot steps, don't want to play follow the leader, trying not to be like her.
Trying to be anything, anything but her.
But by trying not to, by trying to avoid her steps I feel like I've walked right into them, now playing follow the leader, but that isn't what I want.
No, not at all.

Her mother.
-
Some told me she never wanted to be like her mother either, saying that her mother use to do her the same way as me, but with out the drugs.
Saying her mother, my grandmother who has very little to with me just as my mother, was like my mother now.
Who would have guessed?
She never wanted to be like her mother either.
Either do I, so does that make me even more like her?
As I think about this I can't help but to wonder why...

Why mom?
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Mother, if I ever could, or had the guts to, which one day maybe I will...
I would ask why? Why would you chose drugs over your own daughter? The daughter which you had by choice.
Why would you put all your blames on me? Why not take up for your own actions?
Oh, right.
Because you want everyone to think of you as the good guy, am'I right mom?
Why don't you care? Why don't you ever really look at me?
Is it because your scared you might find yourself? Or are you scared because you might not?
Why must you point out every flaw in me? My hair, why did I dye my hair? My lips, their to thin. My skin, I got one blackhead.
To make you feel better about your self, right?
Why must you hate the music I listen to? Why must to dissagree and complain about everything I do? My nails are black, omg! I wear eyeliner, don't go goth! When you have no idea what goth even is? Why must to label me like a can of soup?
Oops, I forgot you want me to be that perfect daughter.
Why am'I not good enough for you?
That one I have no answer for.

I don't know.
-
How to be the daughter of your dreams, nor will I try.
I guess it goes both ways, huh?
I'm not the daughter you've dreamed of, always wanted.
She's not the mother I've dreamed of, always wanted.
Funny how that works, don't you think?
Funny how I always want to please her, make her proud, but noting, noting really seems to work.
I'm noting more to her than a subject.
A subject.
I have loved ones, dad, step mom, aunt, friends... who all love me. And some trying to feel the gap she put their herself.
But it never works, and I don't want anyone trying...
Because shes the only one who could fill that gap, fill that gap that hole that always sucks me in, that sickening darkness, caused by no onther than my mother.
Sometimes, I don't even think mother is the right word for her.
Do you?

Do you.
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Even realize what you do me, mom?
No I bet she doesn't, and I'm sure she would care less...
How much pain shes causes, how much she makes me cry, how much she makes me wann be anything but her, how much I want to hate her, but can't?
Does it really even matter? She wouldn't care, would you mom?
Not at all.
If she did, if she cared the littlest bit, she'd be there for me, not have willly given me up so easy.
But theirs no point in going back on all the 'ifs', right mom?

One day.
-
You will look back on all of what you have done, realize what you have, and maybe even regret losing me.
But then again maybe you'll keep lying to everyone, inculding your self.
Pat on the back mom!
Well done.
I can only hope one day she she will realize for her self.
...Before it's too late for 'sorrys'.

Hope.
-
I can only hope she will see all for herself.
I can only hope for so many things.
I could only hope for my mothers love.
I could only hope for her arms around me.
I could only hope for her saying everythings alright.
But now...
...All those hopes are now-
Gone...

A chance.
-
I won't always be here.
I hope she understands that her time is running out.
I have a life of my own, a life that will and can not stop for one person, a life that goes on and on by it self, with no say so from me or anybody else.
Here today, gone tomorrow; living my own life.
I hope she understands if she ever wants it to be okay, this is her last chance.
A chance I hope she takes.
A chance I can only pray she takes.
A chance is all there is left, a chance.

Mom, understand.
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That I'am not trying to put you down.
Bring you down, or make you feel bad about yourself.
I want her to understand how I feel, were I'm coming from, and most of all me.
I want her to understand me.
Will she, can she, is she willing to, or will she be able to?
I simply don't know.
I love you, mom; I hope you understand.

-These aren't poems, or anything of the such but my feelings towards the one I call mother.