"The Letter" by Jalen Blot
She asked me if I would cry at your funeral
I told her I didn't even know if I would attend
She wept.
Her biggest fear was realized.
That I, her only child would live a life
Bearing grief of not having closure
Not being able to fully see you for what you should have been to me
Not being able to tell you the things I've kept locked up for so long
Not being able to reminisce on
The good times
She didn't understand that you already died in my life
You, master of reincarnation died so many times
The reinvention of “I will be better this time”
But you are not only to blame
She knew better
She made life too easy for you
Made you bored
That even with a child
Presented you no challenge
You, master of manipulation
Knew how to remain enabled and free
So she chose you
But the two of you are not only to blame
Me, amorphous in emotion
Made it difficult for you to reach me
In each of your reincarnations
Reluctant to teach you how to love me again
Even now penning this letter
Me, stubborn and resisting transparency
Fumbling to find reason in opening up
I never hated you
But protecting my heart, my well being, my mental health
Became survival
That death in its mystery was something I could never master
Forgive me
For forgiving and never forgetting
For punishing your absence
For injecting doubt in the ones that came after me
She asked me if I would cry at your funeral
But she already knows I've been crying, you were just never around to see.
By Jalen Blot
cover photo via esquire.com