Mom, it's a complicated thing. There are feelings and dynamics.
Well, I have feelings too.
Of course you do. Like I'm feeling you're being a bit too dramatic.
Mom, sometimes you have a way of dealing. Believe me, this is hard for me to say.
Just say it, Sarah.
You have to promise not to overreact, not to make faces, not to judge, not to interrupt.
Just listen.
I have boundaries.
Why?
I never knew I had them.
They is me.
I'm a true codependent, making everybody happy first instead of me.
Boundaries.
Yes, I know this word, boundaries.
It's a line.
Someone draws in the sand that says, don't cross over here to me.
But boundaries can be gentle, little social reminders, like the way you tap a kitty cat on the nose.
And boundaries can be dark lines that grow deeper with more time.
Honey, frankly, I am not fine with how this story goes.
You're doing it again.
You're not listening to me.
Well, you're not listening to me.
Okay, that's triggering.
What is this triggering?
It's when I'm trying to talk about my feelings and you make it about you and I get re-traumatized.
How are you traumatized?
By your complete invalidation of our boundaries.
Thank you.
Of my boundaries.
Oh, please.
Fine.
I'm never going to say anything ever again.
I will never have an opinion around any of you ever again.
Happy? Satisfied?
Mom, please.
All I'm saying is that our parent just died and we would like you to think before you speak and act respectfully.
That's a lot to ask.
It's my boundary.
It's my boundary.
It's my boundary.






Inhale every inch, little bitch, still attached to you.
My beating heart, there you are.
Driving off in your car, did I say far too much?
Much too late, probably.
Please don't go very far.
I'll always worry.
It's what I do best.
Please don't take that away from me.
You're still my baby.
My door's always open.
You know where I leave the key.
I can feel all your feelings.
Even dream all your bad dreams.
I might get up from a 40-year nightmare and guess what I'm feeling?
Ugh!
Your boundary is my trigger.
Your boundary is my trigger.
When I was your age, I'd do every chore.
Anything that you wanted.
Asked me to, to quiet her rage.
I was the pillow she screamed every night into.
So I promised I'd never do that * to my daughter.
I spackled and sanded my anger and sadness to make room for you.
Now I'm starting to panic.
I should've breastfed.
I'm hearing we missed out on magical bonding juice.
I should've...
breastfed.
I'm hearing neglect is far worse for us than abuse.
And we all blame the mother.
Let's pile on to the mother.
Who gives like a charity.
Gives like a giving tree.
Left like a stump in her forest of misery.
Your boundary is my trigger.
Your boundary is my trigger.
Your boundary is my trigger.
Your boundary is my trigger.

I'd shove you back inside me.
For my belly, you would provide me.
For the map that you could guide me.
And you'd pull my cord.
Like a gentle soft reminder.
As you stretch out my vagina.
I found researching what a ride.
I would clench my thighs.
And keep you there, forever.
And keep you there, forever.
I don't know boundaries
Never knew I should have them
So how could I
know yours?
Your boundary is my trigger
Your boundary is my trigger
Your boundary is my trigger
Your boundary is my trigger