HL - A Confession

Mother forgive me, a legacy smeared
By the absense of love for what you hold dear.
A hand made of feathers brown and not blue;
It really should not mean that much to you.
Mother, you're angry. But does that help you?
I despise our totem as much as you do.
We've hid from its history, fled from its ire-
And yet you insist this is what you desire.

Mother I'm sorry, but I don't understand. 
I'm still the same fledgeling that one held your hand.
You've no qualm with opulence, at least that I know;
So what about what I did upsets you so?
Mother, I loathe that I must put pressure on you,
But I'm still a vulture because you are too. 
The pressures we face, they're real to us both,
And I'd wish you stop saying they hurt me the most. 

Mother, I changed, but I could have changed more. 
My gross vulture habits shoved through the back door. 
And maybe the reason your rage is so tough,
Is that me having changed means you're not good enough. 
Mother, I love you, but hate our foul beaks. 
Ignoring our legacy grinds at your teeth!
And although it appears that I've left you to rot,
I'm still your little vulture, and to me, that means a lot.