Still recovering from the toxicity of my mother’s love
still trying to put it all together while living up to the standards and expectations my momma put on me at a young age.
still trying to over the scars from her rage, ass whooping for no reason, physic and verbal abuse,
the black family contains a poisonous household that has effects that linger into adult hood.
it has bread a scared young man who,afraid of what he’s capable of
afraid to make mistakes
trying so hard to please his parents
our parents teach us tough love
masking it with giving us thick skin they peel us apart and pour acid on it,
leaving us decayed and damaged,
trying to rebuild ourselves from our damaged childhoods
Some of us never repair, the anxiety sticks to us forever
hurt people hurt people they say, and our parents, the first love we ever encounter teach us how to not love ourselves
the saddest part is that they never knew how to themselves.
the endless cycle of toxic love, our toxicity lingers onto lovers and friends, siblings
cousins creating a web or pain and suffering, all because our house wasn’t a home
because our first love, our parents, couldn’t love themselves