Childhood trauma - Poetry

Am I my mother?

The more I let myself think, the easier it is to find the layers upon layers of insecurity buried deep in my bones
Poking through my chest, begging to be indulged
I try so hard to love myself thoroughly and completely
But there is always a little voice in the back of my head quietly whispering to me that I will never fully kill it off, no matter how hard I try
I know I look like my mother
I've been reminded of it my whole life
I couldn't forget it even if I wanted to
I've always thought she was the most beautiful person I ever laid my eyes on
I looked up at her as a child and felt so warm and safe
Her soft brown freckles dotted all over her warm cream coloured skin
Rosy pink cheeks, wavy brown hair that always seemed to fall and frame her face perfectly
She always looked airbrushed
Designed so intentionally, without any flaw (in my eyes)
Her singing could paint a picture, her words could build a castle
You were always a living fairytale in my eyes
I have always wondered why you never seemed to see it
How am I supposed to love myself when I am a mirror image of you?
How can I, when you put yourself down so relentlessly?
If you are a mess and I am you- am I messy purely by association?
When you look in the mirror and spit poison at your reflection, you are spitting it not only at yourself, but at me as well.
You don't mean to corrode my skin, but bit by bit, insecurity by insecurity, you drag me down with you
It's not your fault that you are hurting
It is not my fault that I am you.