Stop. I am the moment before the choking starts.
All terror and a little hope.
You can tell me I can swallow if you want,
but I'd rather suffocate
on the lump in my throat than admit
I'm depressed to anyone but my mother.
Tears well, but it's a closed well.
Eventually it will overflow, but not yet,
not for several years, in several ways.
Start the reel.
My mother loves me, perhaps she doesn't.
I'm surprised that I'm depressed
and sometimes I'm not.
I'd rather admit that I'm suffocating
than let this lump in my throat get anymore
un-swallowable.
All hope and a little terror.
The choking starts in the moment
before I
stop.
YOU ARE READING
Bent Roses
PoetryBent Roses is a poetry collection about familial devotion, love, and misery. It is about those nights when everyone gets home late and the first thing they say to each other is good morning. It is about believing in another person when you shouldn't...
