My mother is loving
caring
beautiful
but never pretty, never attractive.
Her body is a dimpled terrain of fat and age, her skin rough as pumice, her hair balding and uneven.
I love my mother. But i hate that she had left a part of her in me
A seed which i cannot prevent from
Growing and growing
Till it engulfs me and i become her.
I look in the mirror and i see everything to hate
And everything given by my mother.
My dimpled thighs, my dark skin, my folds and crevices which i expect to grow along with me.
I want to erase it all and create a body of my own
Without a trace of my mother.
I tried starving it out but it returned.
I will try plastic surgery but it manifests in another place.
My mother is loving
caring
beautiful.
But never pretty.
I will never be beautiful
And never be pretty
For the beauty she holds and i behold
Is shared between both of us
And us only.
YOU ARE READING
lentil rice
Poetryyouth grows on branches of mango trees. pluck them early green and bury them in rice baskets to ripen them quick. love grows on branches of guava trees. pluck them early green and they are solid teeth-breakers. pluck them late white, love melts in...
