the other day,
as the moon had risen
I sat at the dinner table.
the morning was sure hell
as you grunt and whine and yell
over something so stupid
as the hair resting upon her shoulders.

her gentle hair on her head
messy and fresh out of bed
needed a sprucing before school
my mother said.
in an attempt
to be of assistance
I brushed away the resistance
of little wisps shying away
from her braids.

a crucial mistake
for my mother could not fake
the misplaced rage
as it reddened her face.
deep into my neck
did my nails dig in
a simple error in
judgment
became a sin.

here I am,
same dinner table as before
to hear her scream indirectly
once more.
in the midst of the bullets
she threw into my ears
there was a painting
nailed on the wall
in the corner of it all
that she should hear.

today, I choose joy,
the words painting in black
the background painted
in colors of warm
made me think back,
she's the one who purchased that.

you choose joy today,
yet anger tomorrow
chose petty next week
and so I chose sorrow.
how could one hang the portrait
of today,
and still,
feel validation
in the words you say?
honestly, it makes me sick
you
two-faced
disgraced
the nerve to make me feel
out
of
place
hypocrite.