"Guilt Quilt"

My mom makes wash cloths for me like they are pieces of gold. My whole life she would make us funky sweaters while not providing actual clothes for her children, but hording yarn and craft materials while we starved. Her victim complex in terms of her gift's use was outrageous. Always asking "are you using my wash cloths?" "I made you beautiful sweaters and you don't even wear them" while I'm bullied at school. She would force me to learn to crochet or sew rather than play with friends. The trauma I experience when seeing a sewing machine or something hand knitted. When I had my first solo show she cried and said "no one is ever going to see my stuff" rather than a congrats, so I added it to the show. I sewed together all of her unusable wash cloths on a lamp and surrounded it with paintings containing text of her favorite sayings. Stuff like "you must have liked it" or "the clown was right" one she said to my brother at 7 when a clown at the library called him stupid for laughs. After this show we stopped speaking.