My mother’s head had been cut open,
But she had felt the splitting since I was an infant
Crying out from my trundle bed.
Then I was sixteen and still crying out.
Let me explain;
I couldn’t express that I was aching,
So I’d tell them my mother was.
But no one bothered to ask me if she was alright.
A friend of mine told me, frustrated
That people get attention hungry
When the slightest thing goes wrong.
It’s true, I needed attention.
But I don’t know why the word is so hated
Lurched off the tongue like lonely girls aren’t worthy of
Some common human kindness.
That shut me up
So I had nothing to say
Save one dismissive mention
No one bothered to ask me if I was alright.
The worst part is
The splitting feeling didn't go away.
Her pain is worse now
That I am nearly an adult.
The sympathy for my mother vanished
Faster than the money she spent
To lie in a hospital bed,
Wrapped in a paper gown.
The sympathy for me was never there.
This is about my mom's brain surgery