Work Text:
maybe frankenstein's monster was as loved as he was persecuted.
perhaps the burning tips of the pitchforks were only meant to guide him home.
i think i am my mother's monster;
loved too much to be let go,
and feared so much as concrete fears the growth of trees.
despised because i am made in the mirror of her monstrosity.
adored because the reflection does not shatter the mirror, and no one has to clean the shards off of the ground.
i am my mother's monster,
daughter, friend.
i am the sum of her parts.