I never believed 

That being a dreamer could hurt 

But now I see it

Without its perks 

When I found myself 

Dreaming about you calling

Or us cruising like we used to,

Hearing you say, "I'm sorry,

I never should've hurt you."

Laying on your chest

Just to hear your heart beat,

Knowing that it was specifically reserved for me

Cuddling with you,

And taking in all your features 

Hoping and praying

That our daughter will look like you in the future 

Dreaming, yes, of course it can hurt

But waking up

Is truly a curse 

Knowing that you're calling someone else yours

Your hand on their thigh 

As you steer your ride,

Realizing that

My daughter will have another man's eyes

We were never good

I know that now

In fact,

I'm glad we're starting anew

But sometimes

I still enjoy

Dreaming of you

I meet the boy

With sad eyes

And a bottle in his hand

He tells me there's a happy potion inside

And it has become his best friend

He explains that it's a trend

If you drink it, 

You'll fit in

And that's the only way everyone's figured

How to bring their sadness

To an end 

He hands me the bottle

And I lift it to my lips

After one too many sips,

The world begins to spin

For a second,

I question if it is working 

Because as I look at all the gathered teens,

My heart starts hurting

For they all have hidden bruises

On their hearts

And in their minds

So they aimlessly 

Turn to glass potions

To shield their pain 

From time to time

  I watched him hit her. This man with a different type of blood running through his veins claimed my mother's face with his fist as if he had a right to. He knocked the words right out of her mouth; fear into my five-year-old heart. Every time he belittled her, told her she would never find another, I told myself he was lying. She did the opposite. Her brain tricked her into thinking she was never enough. She filled him with hot meals so that maybe his cold heart would somehow feel warmth. She kept the whole house clean in an attempt to hide the messy situation we were living in. She gave him a child of his own so he would stop punishing her for the one that wasn't. She made excuses for him and called it love. So I buried every little girls dream of being just like her mother right next to my mother's self-love. After that, I kept my shameful mother-daughter wish a deep secret. I vowed to myself that I would never be a spitting image of the lost girl she was. 

  When I met you, we held nothing back. Right off the bat, we knew each other's stories. What really caught my attention was the vow you made to yourself--to turn out better than your abusive father. In our minds, we were the perfect recipe for a love story. Hand in hand, we were determined to make things work. Determined to write a better autobiography than the ones our parents had written for themselves. Hand in hand, we were two clueless teenagers who thought they had it all together. 

  As time went on, the soft and sweet image wore off. Our broken hearts and battered minds came out to play, causing frequent arguments. I tried to fill you with love in an attempt to warm your cold soul. I kept your image clean in order to avoid messy conflicts with my loved ones. I gave you my world when you couldn't make one of your own. I made excuses for you and called it love. So when the day came that you put your hands on me, I cried for you. I cried because I couldn't save you no matter how hard I tried. I cried because you became everything you said you wouldn't. And when I stood in front of the mirror, a harsh reality was in plain sight. I had mistakenly buried my self-love next to my mother's. As a result, my deepest, darkest secret stared back at me. Like mother, like daughter.