My mother, my muse
I don't like my mother. She doesn't like me. She doesn't know me. She sees herself as a child in me and I am a redhead, freckled and pale. She's a brunette with a tanned complexion. But she is me. She's my image turned inwards. Believing she could get a second chance at love by making me love her as a parent, as a friend, she acts humble and pleasing to me. Despite her lack of awareness and her complete astonishment about why I am not yet turning into a perfect version of who she wants me to be, I still think she is important. She is important because she served the role of giving me life and making my skin thick. And that is enough for me to be able to write about our experiences together without 'bruising' too easily. I believe that the most important person in anyone's life is their mother. If their mother was absent or too hurtful to be considered a nurturer, they will affect that person's life to a high degree. Therefore, even though ...