Mother.
Her eyes, like sweet pearls
yet tired
her face, fair,
yet longing
her soul, beautiful
yet shaken and stirred.
Her love, keeps going
her love, presses forward
her love, is not sweet.
Her love shouts,
her love kills the spirit of joy
but at the same time resurrects
the common sense in the meaning of
the word "priority"
"Life is not fun", she says.
"It is not all fun and games.
Out there is a war
you are not willing to fight
just because you have it all."
"Life", she says, "is not all daisies and roses.
Out there you have to struggle
with all your might
through the thorns of life,
the pangs of labour"
"Life is not your own", she says
"Out there when you find love
that's when you'll struggle.
You'll realise I was right
and you'll know what it's like to be
just like me.
I have to sacrifice everything I have for you
the life I have in these veins
the time that slips from my hands
the breath that I give away
my strength
my might
my will
just to give myself
for food on the table
for a roof over your head
for a car to go from point A to B
see, everything costs my hard-earned cash that I worked for you
to sustain you.
And you live like this;
you take me for granted!
You live carelessly thinking like everything else is all cared for, done and given to you
like you don't need to do anything
everything is provided for, but you see, dear darling.
Life is harsh
Life is cruel
Life is against what you thought life to be
Because when you go out to face life's true face
life feels more like death!
Everyday you feel like you've come to the end of yourself
but you know you gotta just press forward
because you have love.
And you just gotta work a little harder", she says.
Her love is like medicine
chemically fixing my physical ailments
helping me fight my own flesh.
It is not sweet,
as she scolds and weeps
and shouts and rants and rages
She literally tells me to not cut myself
whilst threatening to stab me
if I were to ever reach for the blade!
It is like
Father.
When he reaches his fist towards my face
"I want to punch you", he says
I wonder, is his love for me based on my grades
that he should be angry because I do not please him?
I remember my cousin
when he told me
"My father once said 'I hate you' to me, to my face"
and I felt it was something like that.
The way he, no, both my parents rage at my little brother
for losing his textbook
and when questioned
accusations pour forth
death threats rain down from the doom
which is my father's sky.
It reminded me of when I was little,
traumatised,
wanting to leave home,
disappointed,
because when I was seven
my mother was right:
it felt like the whole world were against me;
including my parents.
I was a "liar"
but the irony
when poetic justice marches in victorious,
when the truth wins out
as I pressed forward.
But if Life were a hurricane
and Love, a pain
then I wouldn't wanna go through all that
But the truth is,
as always, the truth, it hurts
Life is against you
and so is Love
but Love, is special.
It is not for me but it is for you.
It isn't sweet sometimes but it is healthy.
Father has done well
Mother is still working
and both brother and sister
still naive
still ignorant
still...safe
and I, I'm getting ready to leave
searching for a love
I'll be struggling to receive
'cause, I'll be looking for the sweetness you didn't give me, Ma
but they won't hand it to me
like you have.
I have nothing else to say