I'm Not My Mother's Anymore — I'm Mine

I might have been yours when I was 6 months old and couldn’t feed myself.

I might have been yours when I was 1 year old and learning to walk.

I might have been yours when I was 2 years old and couldn’t cross the street by myself.

I might have been yours when I was 3 years old and learning to use the potty.

I might have even been yours when I was 4 and learning to ride a two-wheeler or 5 and starting kindergarten.

I might have been yours when I was 6 and scared of the dark.

I might have been yours when I was 7 years old and had an earache.

I might have been yours when I was 8 and 9 and 10 and learning to navigate the world.

But I wasn’t yours when you left me alone by myself all those nights.

And I wasn’t yours when you were stumbling around the streets.

And I wasn’t yours when you told me I was “annoying” because I said I loved you.

I wasn’t yours when you took me away from my entire family.

I wasn’t yours when you got drunk and threw my Christmas presents away.

I wasn’t yours when you attempted suicide and blamed me.

And I wasn’t yours when you stole my medication after I had surgery.

I wasn’t yours when you let your girlfriend kick me out of the house.

I wasn’t yours when you locked yourself in your room for days at a time.

And I wasn’t yours when you left for Atlantic City without telling me.

I wasn’t yours when you didn’t teach me how to drive.

I wasn’t yours when you didn’t help me with my period.

I wasn’t yours when you forgot to teach me about love and sex and how they go together — but even more importantly, how they don’t.

I wasn’t yours when you showed up drunk to my high school graduation.

I wasn’t yours when you left before they called my name.

I wasn’t yours then, and I’m not yours now.

I’m not yours when I’m studying hard to do my best in graduate school.

I’m not yours when I make a good play at shortstop.

I’m not yours when I take my medication in the morning or when I go to sleep at night.

I’m not yours when I’m planning to have a child.

I’m not yours when I think about doing life the right way.

I’m not yours when I leave for work every day.

I’m not yours when I give life everything I have.

I’m not yours when I kiss my husband goodbye.

And I’m not yours when he says “I love you” back.

I’m not yours when I think about how you’ve hurt me.

And I’m not yours when I have flashbacks at night.

I’m not yours when I talk about you in therapy.

And I’m not yours as I move forward with my life.

I was yours when it had to be that way.

I was yours when I had no choice.

But now, I am older, I am wiser, I have a choice, and I am not yours. I am mine.