A Most Devoted Daughter

by Aondeug

Summary:

As a child Fate had one wish: to make her mother smile. That wish never came true and her devotion was met with cruelty. That sort of thing leaves a mark on a person, even one as successful as Fate T. Harlaown. A collection of poems about Fate's abuse at the hands of her mother and the aftermath of it.

Chapter 1: Not a southpaw blues

There's a pen in your left hand
just as you remember
though it doesn't feel the same.
You can see it though
right there in your memories,
it's crystal clear.
Pens, crayons, pencils,
they’re all in your left hand
as you draw your pictures
for your mother
who smiles at them
when she comes home from work
and tells you how nice they are,
how talented you are.
Right now though
even if it's in your left hand
while she watches you
with growing concern
you just can't do it.
You try and fail
to draw a line
just like you remember
while your hand aches and pains,
cramping in protest.
You can't find the little muscles
that you remember so well
which let you draw your lines
to show Mother.
You know they're there,
you can even feel them
in those memories,
but you can't find them here.
You can't find them
and you can't draw a line
and your mother's leaving
with a heavy sigh
because you failed again.
You couldn't draw a straight line
to make her smile
just as you remember
and you don't understand why.
There's a pen in your left hand!

Chapter 2: It's your fault

She feels it
sharp, stark
burning
that cuts quick,
digging deep
drawing out cries.
One, two
how long is it?
An hour?
More?
It blurs,
blended up,
one moment
a lifetime,
one moment
too short.
Her fault
it's her fault
frankly.
Just hers
and just her
on the floor.
Cold, burning
bruising, bleeding.
Just her,
just shame.
Silversharp
pain
she feels it.

Chapter 3: A Lack of Love

Every time she goes up to her
there's a pit of worry in her stomach
and more than a little shame.
She's disappointed her mother, surely,
as that's all she ever seems to do.
She tries though,
tries to get just one smile.
She never succeeds of course,
because she doesn't love Mother
not nearly enough and like she should.
So the shame is great
and it burns and burns,
because guilt brands you deeper than fear.
If only she loved Mother more,
if only she respected Mother more,
but of course she doesn't
and so even as she recoils
from the whipping to come
she can't help but feel
that it's for her own good
every time she goes up to her.

Chapter 4: Hanging

A cold room is home
and her shoulders pop and tear.
Home's where the chains are.

Chapter 5: (not an) Infection

Arf, dear Arf. She's here.
Alcohol is here also
which burns while it cleans cuts.

Chapter 6: She'll always be 'Mother'

Days pass,
then months
and years even
and as time slips by
the feeling never dies,
not completely.
That yearning's still there
for something she never got
and it always prompts an
'I love you, Mother.'
No one understands
except Mom, maybe,
and that's just fine.

Chapter 7: Just one hug

Your eyes are dead
and your spirits are crushed
so you crumple to the floor
while that girl shouts,
it might be your name,
you don't care
because all you can think
is how much you want a hug
but not from that girl.

Chapter 8: Sometimes

Sometimes
as you sit there
you think of her,
your mother.

She smiled,
though never at you.
She laughed,
though always at you.
Your name
was never on her mind.
Her name,
now that was on her mind.
You were pit
against a girl you never knew.

There's scars too,
more than you can count
all clustered up
on your back and more
for having failed
to live up to the ghost
of the lost.

You've little quirks
like a shyness
that never left,
a desire to please
that never left,
and a terror
that they all might leave.

But sometimes
as you sit there
and you think of her,
your mother,
you can't but know
that you'll always, always
always love her.

Chapter 9: Stigma

Some worry.
They murmur and whisper
of the family curse,
the madness,
though you've worked
all your life
to be anything but
the madness.

Isn't that a madness?