Nowhere To Hide

My fourteenth birthday is next month, and it marks the sixth year of my mother's... transformation, may I call it. When I was younger, my mother seemed to treat me as a mother ought to, and I felt loved between my mother and father. Recently, though, my mother has become just horrible to my whole family. She never let my dad up from working and did little to help. He decided to divorce her and I cannot say I blame him. now, I spend alternate weeks at her house, and it is some sort of nightmare.

She never seems to approve of anything I do. I bought a gift for my girlfriend, a dreambox, if you've heard of them. She said I was too young to be "doing that" and I had to give it to her a week late because I had to have my father take me to get it. most days, my dad takes me to school, and I dread the time when I come home and it is rarely more that an hour after I get home that I am sobbing on the floor of my closet, the only place in the house that belongs to me and me alone. I have my own dreambox, and she knows all she has to do to push me to tears is to try and take it. A dreambox is a receptacle for your dreams, and you write down your fondest wish and any very special objects, like a neclace from my girlfriend, and place these in it. As you can tell, it is a rather personal thing, and she entrusted care of it to my eight year old sister who threw all those items out at the request of my mother.

I would love to connect with the rest of my family, but only my dad seems kind, though he is especially so. My sister cries as frequently as I about my mother, but she is very loyal to her. I find myself sitting in my closet for long hours absorbed in writing sad poems I I seem to have a knack for. I love Nature, and find myself wandering an increasingly long amount of time in woods. That is, when my mother doesn't catch me walking out and give me some disgusting cchore that doesn't really need doing. In fact, I am only writing this under the pretense of doing homework, or I would be cleaning the fridge, or making some meal that she would later criticize. I dont like lying to my mom, but it is really the only thing I can hide behind during the weeks at her house.

this, by the way, is one of my poems, this one about the trees, which I somehow love more than my own mother.

Tree-Mother
Gentle like the summer wind
Her arms open
For me to cry on
She loves me
Like no mother I have ever known
She gives me warmth
Like a fire on a cold night
And hugs me when summer comes
For she is the loving tree
Blossoming with love
Like no mother I have ever known