Mother's Day Revelation.

[Brownlie]

It's not that I don't anymore it's --Maybe consider stronger end words for your lines. What don't you do anymore?
that I never did. You calling at
Seven o' seven to blister my joy,
I forget it's not your intention.

When I bartered your dependence for
my nights out I was your sweet
predilection. But I knew you well
enough to assume circumvention.

You were not care, -- Awkward syntax here
I was not a bind.
I was your contempt,
and you were my child. -- I hate this part.

Well it sounds a little like something Sylvia Plath would write, but it does little to reach beyond the antipathy. My two cents.