nothing else but my heart's desire [COLLECTION] | FINISHED

The Blank Stare - ORIGINAL POEM

I have seen the look my mother seems to always have upon her face, I have known it all my life, for she seemed as though she had the world at her fingertips once upon a time, but no more, for it had been lost many years ago, as she gave herself to each child, and lost her patience to cope with the world. She had given up on hopes and dreams, I had often thought that it may have been better for her to live those dreams than dedicate those years to a life she had not felt as hers, as she lost her identity to the concept of motherhood, to being a mother, though I never really knew her, not at all. How could I know her, if I could only ever look at her, look through her, look through the eyes of child to she who gave life but never wished it, who regretted it as the days turned to weeks, months, years, melting by, envy filling her heart as she, living in this world as I would, to suffer the same fate one day, raised another version of her, raised a daughter after daughter, girl after girl? I hate her now, I hated her then, but I feel such sadness in my heart, for she never knew the lies she had been led to believe, how much the regret would weigh her down as she settled into the finality of her decisions, as she were chained to a life she wished she could rid herself of, as so many women had suffered as the enormity of her choices finally dawned upon them, just before the inevitable fall?

And I have seen the blank stare, as she finds herself defeated in the face of entitlement and combativeness, as she finds she cannot fight back against the words thrown her way, finding little hope, little safe haven from the domineering voice of man as he looms over her shoulder, always there, always present, his presence evident in each decision, act, thought she had from now until eternity, until the last light fades. It cannot be helped, they may think, but her decisions were watched, always observed by the young people in her orbit, and it had set a standard - poor, unplanned, careless, for how her daughters were to expect to be treated, as they too aged and embarked on their own journey into the world. Frustration and resentment sets in, and I had hoped for many years to never become as I had seen in the women of the world, for they each grew far too tired, too saddened, to weary for the world they were forced to inhabit, forced, through these treacherous waters, they must wade. I had hoped it would not be for me, that I would escape such feelings, such words of cruelty, to live my life according to my own whims and wishes, to my own desires, to shape the world as I had envisioned, and perhaps it shall still be, but this world is unfair to a mother, a daughter, a woman, a girl. I feel the weakened state intrude upon my mind, and force me back to bed when the world becomes far too overwhelming, overbearing, overpowering for me to take all its brute strength of character. But still I shall fight, wearing my blank state as fashion, as armour, understanding the world as I do, as others cannot, as all women do, as they shall never. It shall be my armour, and the pen for which I shall always write, from when I were young until I am old, from when I were a daughter until I am a mother, at each stage, on this very matter. This storm, with my blank stare, I shall weather.