mother always smiled fondly
while reminiscing 
that my father was ordered 
out of delivery room for fainting 
his absence in my life
always more profound
than his fleeting presence
drugged by well-meaning doctors 
into fashionable unconsciousness
my mother held 
no further memory of my birth
claiming she awoke feeling refreshed
just returned from a fabulous vacation
my delivery a fait accompli
nurses assuring her
my misshapen head 
the result of forceps
what a cold splash of reality
I must have been
did she know me 
even then
a changeling?
a cuckoo in her nest?
we never understood 
one another
my mother
and me
she opaque
distant
me demanding
passionate
christened ‘too much’
by the baptismal priest
foreshadowing 
my upbringing
a solid diet
of catholic guilt
shame
gaslighting
memories 
I could not trust
they became
razor blades
scratching
relentlessly
across surface 
of my consciousness
me
the artist
psychic self-harm
my masterpiece
I bleed
therefore
I am.

Photo by Vadim Sadovski on Unsplash