dear mother,
on the thirty first of january, you gave birth to a baby girl.
her cries echoed in the spacious delivery room as your eyes glimmered with watery tears, and people congratulate you for successfully creating a "miracle".
as you held her in your frail arms, you stared at her and visions of what you wanted her to become flashed in your worn out mind.
isn't it upsetting how i turned out to be none of them?
it was like a movie trailer that makes you dance and squeal in excitement, but causes you to silently grimace as the actual scenario unfolds right before your very eyes.
however, the corners of your painted-red lips still manage to curve upwards whenever i invade your imperfect vision. i don't see why.
i am like a disappointing movie everybody watched and are still watching. a movie that everybody was once eager to watch, and a movie everybody thought would be beautiful.
i am like an ongoing book people read just to witness how much of a disaster i can become and how much of a disaster i am becoming.
i traversed the road you never wanted me to follow and i turned my back on your expectations that have suffocated me and drawn out all the air from my lungs.
i turned my back on you mother, and all the things you wanted me to be.
on the thirty first of january, you gave birth to a baby girl
on the thirty first of january, you gave birth to me.
YOU ARE READING
words i am unable to express
Poetryhere, i place the words i am unable to express. let this be my comfort zone, a place where i vent out all my hidden feelings. it won't necessarily touch hearts, it won't necessarily meet standards but it will be my place. where i lay and where i fe...
