My mother would say many things to me
Not particularly nice things
She’d call me impotent and ungrateful
Big words with little meaning
I knew she was wrong
But deep deep down
I still knew she was wrong
You thought I was going to say she was right, right?
Wrong
I would never speak back
Because I would say things
I wouldn’t necessarily regret but
Things I would understand that she wouldn’t
And I felt bad
I felt shameful for playing a game she didn’t know the rules to
After all it’s not like I was going to explain to her
What logic and reason were
Sometimes I would say things
They would snake out of my mouth like rancid smoke
And I didn’t even mean them I just knew they would sound satisfying
Like cutting all the way through a carrot
Hearing the knife hit the cutting board in a comfortable thump!
My words evaded me
When I’m afraid I lose my mind
It’s fine it happens all the time
One day I won’t have a mother to not say things to
Maybe I’ll learn
One day