She held me in those tired, capable hands and from them I am yet to sprout
Doomed to be a seedling, an apple of the tree
Never ripe enough, never my own branches or my land
Must forever hover around you
Feeding that need of purpose  

Every button you did, every hole you sowed,
Every essay you thought you wrote
The friends you called foes
The lovers you chased away with scornful words
The meals you forced and the blood vessels that burst when you yelled
And smacked the solution to that math problem across my head
And I mimicked the blows with mirrors and ceramic objects so my skull knew what it deserved

I learned to recognise the dark
At first unfriendly and strange
Then it was the only colour I knew by heart

The kind of hurt that only more pain numbs
Bony, thin-skinned wrists
All fingers and thumbs,
Make it smile
A welcome friend: it’s me! It knows!
The fire in my head dies and turns to water,
It fills a basin it fills a sea
Then a clarity forms
A small but singular necessary piece
It is love
Within me this warmth toward my child self

You can do this
You did it when you were 12