Won’t You Love Me?

Please… mommy…Won’t you love me?

I screamed. I begged. I cried.

I brought home straight As. And I said NO to drugs. And I averted my eyes from guys.

But the word, the truth of my mother’s sting pressed into my skin, hot iron on my soul.

She said it everytime I stood up for myself.

Everytime I tried to unleash the real me within.

Muchachita fea. Muchachita fea. Muchachita…

She needed no belt. Her words were lashes. Deeper than any physical pain she could instill.

Mommy… won’t you love me?

I fought my body. I fought my hair. I fought my skin.

I fought suicide. I fought the feeling of emptiness that welled up, beneath my skin, the poison slowly englufing me. I started hiding. Started running. Started begging the Lord, please please my King won’t you change me? From the outside in?

I prayed. And I prayed. And I prayed.

Fair skin. Charisma. VS limbs.

And when I woke up, the same, I said to hell with you Father. To hell with all of this.

I accepted my skin. I accepted my curls, and the battles with my weight I’d never win.

I gave them away. I gave them to boys who only saw the weight in my chest.

I gave them to men that only wanted to see me, shrouded in darkness and in silence.

I gave them to liars, who cuddled up between my legs, their lovers wondering where they’d been.

I let ugly define me, from the outside in.

And when I had no more ugly to give, I sat with myself and didn’t even remember where I’d been.

I had souls stamped all over me.

Boarding tickets for feelings that had made a home of me.

But at no point did I find me.

I found jealousy.

Insecurity.

I found myself unworthy.

Mommy, mommy… mommy, won’t you love me?

Won’t you love me?

Won’t you love me? Please?

She stamped me ugly.

Before I even had a chance to look in.

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