Old, dead woman, you’ve held sway for far too long.
You with your judgments.
You with your disapproval.
You with your conditional love.
You with your ideas about what is best for me.
You with your cancer legacy.
You with your attempts to control, even my death.
You with the siren song calling me to your grave.
Enough old, dead woman. You will s-mother me no more.
I will be my own judge.
I will seek my own approval.
I will love me.
I will decide what is best for me.
I will have my cancer my way.
I will control my own life.
And I will listen to your songs of death no more.
DF Feb 2010
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