there's only been three times i've seen genuine fear and worry on my mom's face
instead of anger and disappointment
the first was when she first saw what i was doing to my thighs
at the ripe age of 12
slashes in every direction
not a single space of healthy skin
as tears ran down her face,
she stared me in the eyes and said
"i didn't know it was this bad. please stop doing this to yourself. for me."
she never cries.
the second was when i was being poked and prodded
multiple nurses fishing for veins that were far too small to be found
i was groaning in pain, eyes shut tight,
waiting for the god awful searching to end
when she told them to stop
she said it hurt her more than it hurt me
she never feels empathy.
the third was when i found home in
a hospital bed
rotting away with electrodes
stuck to my head like gum in my hair
the seizures robbing me of all vitality
but she was there
holding a little blue bag that said
get well soon
and a plush dog the size of my palms
she never validates my pain.
and although it kills me
that i've only really seen that look in her eyes
three times in my entire life
i will never forget how warm it felt
to know i was loved
if just for a moment
or two
or even three.
YOU ARE READING
20 years of loss (poems)
Poetrya compilation of original poems all stitched together by the mourning of love and innocence-every word represents a cicatrix that haunts my soul, personifying the wounds that never quite healed properly.
