mommy

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sometimes i dream
about walking into the kitchen
with my face cracked open,
red eyed,
shaking,
and just folding into her arms
like it's the most natural thing,
like she wouldn't ask why,
like she wouldn't sigh heavy
and glance at the clock
like i'm wasting her time.

i imagine her hand
against the back of my head,
the kind of weight
that says stay here,
you're safe,
i'll hold the pieces
until you can breathe again.

but it's only a picture in my head.
in reality,
if i ever tried
she would pull back,
questions spilling sharp,
frustration brimming over
like i'd done something wrong
just by needing.

and so i sit in silence,
holding my own ribs shut,
teaching myself
to cradle my own grief
like a child
i don't know how to love.

still, the wanting doesn't stop.
it curls inside me,
a soft ache,
a hand forever reaching—
not just for her,
but for anyone
who could look at me
and know without words
that i don't need answers,
i don't need fixes,
i just need someone
to stay.

A/N: sehnsucht

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