My mothers between
light skin and dark skin, blacker
than two of her kids.
My face is her face,
yet people ask if I am
adopted because
they don't see her here,
in the pigment of my skin.
Her love runs deeper.
Her conflict is mine,
her quest for satisfaction
frightens me closely,
like personally.
She breaks down and everyone
treats it as okay,
"Well that's just cookie."
Her family, her husband,
all call her crazy.
But her love runs deep.
I was looking for myself
here, at home. Christmas;
She says, "There are ten
people out there you don't know
who love you. At least."
I float away like
a paper lantern in night;
new fire inside me.
I am on the ground,
with my head up in the clouds.
I am crying now.
I am nothing now.
I am building something new.
I am still searching.
I seek ten people.
Ten people I do not know.
People who love me.
I break down sometimes,
but I have my moms wisdom.
Her smile is my smile.
I put lights in them,
and if they float away I'm
here when they get back.
I'm trying to be
gentle and compassionate.
Honest and caring.
Her face is my face.
My quest for satisfaction;
my love will run deep.