On My Wedding Day

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic
The difference between a mother and an egg is blurred. Some don't know what it means, exactly, to be a mother. What does it mean to you?

Submitted: March 04, 2011

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Submitted: March 04, 2011



It's my wedding day.

I can't believe it.

I remember my younger years so vividly,

though I always am trying to forget them.

Sorry, but NO, you won't be sitting in the reserved section.

Really, you won't be sitting anywhere near me.

I only invited you hear because my new mom said to.

You should meet her; she's amazing.

She's the woman I always wanted in my life when I needed someone.

What's so special about her is her strength.

Yes, she cries.  We all cry. 

But she is a woman, an independent, stand-on-her-own-two-feet, loving woman.

She's selfless, loving, thoughtful, and has been there for me.

And you, who are you again? 

An ovum-giver.  Why thank you.

That is all.

Don't give me that look of disgust.

You know what you did to me.

I'll never forgive you.

You stole from me what should never be taken, my innocence.

You killed a childhood in my that could have thrived.

You made me know hatred and the pain that coincides with life.

You are ugly, foul, and selfish.

These are harsh words.

I wish this day wouldn't come.

And if it did, I planned it in my head so well.

It wouldn't be like this, I would give you a hug,

you would cry, and i would grab your hand and we, together, would sit in the reserved section.

But you come today, with the audicity to forget the past,

you put on that fake smile I know all too well.

I hate that smile. 

The past isn't the past, it is now rooted in me.

It has made me what I am.

You're wrong when you say time makes us forget.

It makes us ease the pain but we'll never forget.

Stop lying to yourself.

You are not my mother. 

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