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