Dangerous woman

There was a time when I felt powerful in my own skin. Somewhere along the line I lost that. So now I look back. Wondering if I was foolish, did I really think I was that sly? Wrapping men around my finger,
With a glance and a smile
A flirt in a skirt.
I felt like a dangerous woman
Drunk on my own arrogance/confidence
Thinking you were under my spell

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Mother.

How do you love a soul crushing, insatiable, greedy monster who is completely indifferent to how you feel?

You love her because she’s your mom. Or more appropriately my grandmother. And the one who continually tries to appease her, my mother.

No matter what I tell her she just can’t get over how poorly my grandmother treats her. She always feels it deep down inside, this sense of validation that will never come.

Back in grams time, a child was something that owed you immediately upon arrival. She owed you her life, her living and future. You were born to eventually support your parents and make their life easier. My mother was bred into that thinking.

But hard as she tries nothing is ever good enough. Grams other nickname is goldilocks. Everything is either too soft or too hard, too cold or too hot. There’s never a middle part in the spectrum, it always passes her by because she’s complained for too long to experience it.

So it goes. I don’t look forward to the day when Grandma passes. I know my mother will fold into herself. She’ll be so heartbroken. Afterwards though I hope she finds some semblance of peace and relief.

I saw someone else mourn the passing of her mother which she had a tumultuous relationship with. It hurts and then relief and long after that only good memories spring. I can only hope for that when it comes to my mother.