"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

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