Hate

[protoporphyria]

I remember, grandma,
How you baked cookies
When I was five.
"Nice and warm," you'd proclaim them.
"Nothing like Mom's cookies."
Too young, my ears. I couldn't hear your scorn.

I remember, grandma,
How you raised me
Like your own.
"You need discipline," you'd say to me.
"Mother ain't raising you right."
Too soft, my voice. I couldn't speak on her behalf.

I remember, grandma,
How you stole my Father from me.
"He has to help his mother now," you'd say.
"No time for the Witch he married."
You didn't see the tears your words made him shed.
Too weak, my hands. I couldn't hold the family together.

I will remember grandma,
All the love you didn't show.
I will remember how it feels,
And teach my children to love.
I will never Hate again, grandma,
Because my Hate will die with you.