My mother is almost six feet tall.

5′11 for whoever is curious.

I am barely five feet. 5′1 for whoever’s wondering.

As you can see, my mom is tall and that means that her eight other siblings: Jack, Jackie, Jackson, Annie, Francine, Aimé, Michelle and Noelle are equally if not taller than she is.

On September 6th our pastor called me into her bedroom and there stood the three eldest siblings: Francine, Annie and Aimé like three beautiful angels. My aunt Annie was particularly hard to look at because she is a spitting image of my mother.

Mom. On September 6th people walked inside the house with their shoes on. I know how much you hate that.  Mom, there are people in the living room with their shoes on. Mom, on September 6th I was inside the house and you weren’t there. There are people flying in and out of this home and none of them are taking their ******* shoes off.  As if the ground where your body had lain a few nights before was *****.

Sometimes I can’t even look in the mirror because all I see is you. I see the woman you created. The little girl that you raised. The little girl who would put her head on your lap when the world was being mean to my four feet tall stature.

Mommy. I am so sorry. I was an absolute demon to you. I ignored you just as much as I avoided you but you also have a part in this. I hadn’t woken up one morning and decided that I wouldn’t speak to you or that I’d move to a different city. These type of things build up. They accumulate and yet, I mourn you like the messenger of God you believed you were.

Mom, I am so so sorry.

Yes and no?
When I was younger, I would walk around with my breath held in.
I felt like I never really had a chance to exhale
and that’s because I thought I’d let too much escape.
I’d reveal too much.
Too much frustration,
too much sadness or anger.
I was always being monitored
Always being controlled.
I did not have the oppurtunity to express my feelings
It sounds childish now
But those were life skills I simply didn’t have
Some that I still struggle with today.

So I guess not. I’d love to have some space.

Ok

Yes, it’s not all about love, or pain but surely it’s a metaphor for the depths of the halls we walk by ourselves amongst ourselves in order to confuse anyone that tries to wander too close to our hearts. Oh come on! Poetry is so pretentious.

To hide through rhythmic syllables, to share a sonnet with thee. To dedicate an entire repertoire of acoustic melodies in order to talk about her body?

Do not get me wrong, I love my fair share of dramatic soliloquies but it seems, to me that honesty has lost its value. Especially with writers. There’s no more truth anymore…no. It always has to develop into a complicated string of ideas. There was a time when writers were able to talk about a woman or lover or whatever, without invoking all the gods.

Learn how to love for what simply is

I've done it again.

I lost track of time and put myself before everyone.
I forced myself to look away because I knew it was true
I quickly became ashamed of what I'd become

I so easily turned into what I hated most
Someone who values her own opinion so much
That she is unafraid of hurting everyone
Someone who "loves" herself so much
That she tears people down
Someone that is too smart
Too intelligent, to discuss just exactly what the hell is her problem
Someone who is so broken
That she allows herself to shatter others

Someone that put up the famous walls
But couldn't break the 4th one.
Someone that lost touch with reality.

Someone that refused to admit it.

And to you, my child
Don't underestimate the power of love
Don't underestimate the strength of friendship
Son.
I am not made of stone.
But I can be the rock you lean on
When the world has beaten you to the core
I am small in size, son
But when the world decides that you no longer need to be seen
I will carry you on my shoulders
Longer than those nine months

Son.

I was raised by a hard man.
But a man that honoured family
A grandfather, for you, that'll share tall tales of his brothers
Son, your grandfather may be small in size
But he is a force not to be reckoned with
He'll show you ways of life
That belong solely to the male species
Ways that I might never even understand

I want you to listen more
I want you to know that when the streets have been too loud for your fragile ears
That mama, will replace gunshots with lullabies
Scars with kisses
Bruises with hugs

But most of all.
Hatred for self-love

And to you, my child
I cannot promise you the world
Nor a string of jewels to wear on your neck or even money
But I can offer you my love
A love so great with the magnitude of black holes
Not just the cool ones in your science books
But the ones that swallow entire planetary systems and clusters of stars
I can't promise you much, baby girl
But I can promise you that you'll never ask yourself if someone loves you
You'll never wonder if there's a point to life
You'll never doubt your worth

Baby girl.

I was raised by a hard man
But a hard man who loved women
A hard man who loved his women
His wife. His mother. His sisters and his daughters.
I was raised by a man that taught me to stand tall not like her father
But like the woman she would become
I was raised by a man that taught me to reason. To think. To question authority if need be.

Go out into the world, baby girl, and live.
Be who you are even when that's not enough for your crush next door.
Because at the end of the day,
The Sun will set
And the Moon will rise

If I were to do it all again I'd tell my mother that I was sorry
I'd tell my brother that I love him
And I'd tell my best friend that
Maybe the skirt was a little too short for brunch with the parents

I'd tell my sister that I wish I had an ounce of her integrity
I'd thank my coach for believing in me
I'd kiss my teacher on both cheeks
For not leaving me in the hallway crying
I'd thank her for being my only friend for almost an entire year
I'd thank her for carrying me on her shoulders for so long
But most of all I'd thank her for letting go at the right moment

If I were to do it all again
I'd be more honest
Not blunt.
Because blunt is uncompromisingly forthright
And I, for one, give a ****.

If I were to do it all again
I'd understand that in order to get to "success"
I'd have to climb the thousand feet tall ladder called "fear"

If I were to do it all again
I'd jump out of the plane on two
Because people hold on to the edges at three

If I were to do it all again...
Man I'd be at the top of that ladder