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Sep 20
I wanted to learn

so last night my fourth grade teacher
tore my eyelids off

and sat me near a television screen
that showed my mother dying
over and over
and over again.

I left as a cavity
of a boy,

collapsing at the sound of passing cars

as I searched for a payphone where
I could speak to the static about Gabriel.

(where is he?)

When I look at my brother and father

I beg for my eyes to be caressed until they’re scarred

with every daytime matinee
and curtsy on the train platform

that built me into this mosaic
of a β€œman”.
deeply personal. would appreciate kind words and condolences. my mother is alive but a part of me has died.
ATL
Written by
ATL  19/M/MA
(19/M/MA)   
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