Mom You never gave me approval to water my roots with; And it’s been two years and you wonder why This plant is dying.
You handed me your love But it was always on a silver tray, Cold and at arms length Where I could never reach it
Mother give me love In my hand So that I can feel it Hold it And Know how to distinguish its textures from others (Mom I am giving my love to men who will never give it back to me because I know not the texture of love)
Mother give me love in my hand like fistful of raw earth it does not have to be beautiful I promise but it will be pure and true and I’ll love you for it
mother give me love so that we can nourish this relationship again I miss the flowers that blossomed from these soils
Mother give me love please So I can mould it into my hands So that I may know What self-love looks like
I've started to think That the answers are At the end of the bottle- The end of the box of tissues- The end of your lingering kiss- But because there are no ends There will never be any answers, Except maybe at the end of my pen's ink.