almost
i was almost her.
i was almost her. almost smart. almost soft.
but it would take an axe to the skull to crack a head made of fuck you’s and do not disturbs and why i oughta’s. and i almost don’t care that they’re mean to me.
because my mom came with a built in switchblade underneath her tongue so i learned how to dance before i learned how to tie my slippers.
speaking of slippers, i was almost a ballerina. but apparently you can’t pirouette your way out of a fight when the stage is a kitchen and the audience is waiting for you to slip.
and i almost did.
Spoken word version here:
I love you
But you're not Violetta. Mothers always bring their intentions, demands, and expectations on a family, and certainly on certain individuals in a family. I bet you, though, are a great Mother and garner your expectations towards your daughter in a supportive way. I'll do a pirouette for you on that front.