You can't choose the head you're given.

I have my mother's mind
and it scares the shit out of me.
How many hours were wasted
looking for her kicks (shoes)
glasses, papers, keys. I feel bad
how it scares me. One thing I know
is that I forgive her for all the resentments I had held towards her growing up.

I will never walk in her shoes, but
I will wear her hair. Long unkempt
at the darkest of times.
I now know what it's like to rive
unseen in pain. How weird and alien
the feeling is nothing like a burn or scrape
not even a bullet hole.

How it takes forever to do the simplest of things because your mind is in such a haze of things that need to get done, but there's no way you can drag yourself out of bed, but you do, because you have to.

How distant she seemed at times
She seemed mad, angry, frustrated.
With all of her, "For crying out louds." and her, " sick and tireds."

The slamming of doors, cupboards,
the stomping of her feet, her hands wriggling in her hair. The sound of despair.
I can't help but feel guilty. I can't help but think that I could've comforted her some how. I could have saved her. I could have thrown my arms around her, and told her I loved her. But I didn't, I ran and hid not knowing what she was going through.

I love my mother. I don't know how to put down here how much I love my mother.
How by having me draw on a blank piece of paper, "whatevever is in that little head of yours." and then writing down what the drawing means; she taught me to write. And in those moments no matter how miserable and lonely she must have felt she was able to make me feel happy and unique.