Get to the gut of it, that tight, twisting, acidic scream of the belly
There you will find you and the you that longs to be more
Pain demands change...limits, contorts and defines

She always loved me, to a fault
When it hurt inside I could depend on her, her compliments, her advocacy, her mothering
The pain would always go, run out with laughter or perspective, or distraction

It's not her fault I could never love myself, to a fault

There is the gut of it
Loving oneself through the faults