Raising A Child (The Idea)

The idea of raising a child scares the hell out of me
Because I know how unfortunate I was
And I know how much it stings to look in my parents’ eyes
And feel their skin
And how much “I love you” feels like it’s being branded onto me
Rather than gently planted, like a flower
And how much the idea of retorting it back pains me
And how much I wouldn’t mean it even if I forced the words
I know how much they don’t understand and how much they don’t know about me
Who I am
And I can only hope with all of the love that I can hardly contain that my child thinks of me as the one who brought them into this world
Rather than being the one that made them feel like they didn’t belong here
And with every fight and misunderstanding, they will never come up with the idea that I will ever hold against them the 9 months we were inseparable
To make up for the life time I could potentially screw up
And that I will never view them as the screw up, but myself as one for ruining the time we were allowed to have



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