mum smiles as she offers a cube of sugar from her upturned palm,
greedily, of course i accept it.
salt.
there are some mums that warn you to never (ever, ever) touch a hot stove top,
and there's ones that throw you right into it and ask why you're so afraid of fire.
this is what abuse is.
knowing you're going to get salt, but still hoping for sugar after twenty-one years.
i still have a stomach ache.
i hope at some point in this lifetime you can find it in you to look at the woman i have become properly, in spite of you, and feel proud.
when you're taught to see the world through nothing but fire, nothing feels safe.

- here's to still hoping for sugar instead of salt.