Figurative Mother

You're not really my mother, of course.
Only a few years separate us, and you're far too young and responsible to be a mother, even an adoptive one. But the family tree is not limited by the confines of reality or social acceptance, and in ways that surpass diagrams and online musings,
I am your daughter.
I read through your blog last night. Skimmed it really, noting the passage of time by the progressive eloquence of your words and the amount of broken glass in them.
The blood poetry scared me the most, in the way that you're apprehensive for a friend who's choking on insanity. But the tears were familiar to me, and when I looked through my own blog, I found parallels. I know the scorn and frustration of being that girl who wears long, exotic skirts to have people think she's different. Still do.
I remember that craving for people to talk behind your back just to laugh, and cry, and pretend you don't care.
There were days when I would go into the part of the forest full of dead, grey wood to scream and break things until I collapsed with tears. Days where I felt like I could feel the rest of infinity pressing itself violently against my ear drums.
The poems you wrote in freshman year are like old photographs for me. Or a mirror when you can see the face of a sibling or parent in the planes of your own countenance.
The makeup, the deadweight of high school, and being a minority within a minority. I admit, I have you to thank for paving that road for me. You and S both.
But you'll be gone in a few years, and I will have the opposite problem, that of a lone straight girl trying to continue the community you created and joined.
My inheritance, per se.
----
In the 500-wing family, in the community that you have helped to create, I do feel like I'm related to you on some level. I don't mind following in your footsteps, twice the size of mine though they may be.
You once told me that every club wants freshmen because it means the club will survive the next year. In the same way that I will be continuing YWP and Forensics, I'm the next "generation".
- Circe's blog
- Login or register to post comments

Circe --
Lovely, dear. Honest & succinct.
Mayhaps you'll acquire your own daughter at some point, dearest cousin~ Keep our zamily's culture alive.
<3
B,
So strange--
I was always the one looking up to people, never the one looked up to--
You don't need anyone's footprints to follow, you know, you're far too brilliant for that, but I'm pleased ours match up so well.
Pillars. Helping hold up the zamily, hold everyone together.
The talk behind your back line? Well put.
Love, your mother.
Mother,
But while you weren't looking, you became a role model. Strange how these things work out, isn't it?
Thank you, dear.
I'll make my own path, but your footsteps are something to strive towards. (They do match up well. Scarily so.)
Three pillars help distribute the weight. I'm just nervous for when my fellow ones leave, and suddenly I become Atlas. We'll see, though. We could always adopt some promising froshidoodles. Maybe I will find a daughter, Neon. = )
A line inspired by the cruelty of small town Vermont middle schoolers. Interesting times.
Thanks for reading, all.
Ͼirce