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Selma Jun 10
I searched for you
in warm hands,
in soft eyes,
in more hellos
than goodbyes,
hoping to stitch
what you rarely gave me.
Anyone
to call Mother,
to save me.

I learned to fold myself
smaller,
and smaller.
I became a piece of paper,
never felt safer,
turning into nothing -
Air,
distancing myself
from you,
in despair.

I wore perfection
like my favorite dresses,
hanging.
My mirror knew my emptiness,
twirling, changing.
I thought if I sparkled enough, just right,
you might finally see me,
maybe even
appreciate my creativity.

But you were carrying your own
ghosts of the past,
nowhere to come home.
And I held your silence
like a secret,
thought it was mine to keep.

As a woman myself now,
I see the cracks in your face.
Beneath the pretty bow
and lace -
an unwanted woman,
an unspoken ache.

So I loosen the bow,
and decide, in time -
I will forgive you
because it’s your first time
living, too.
ah, the mother wound.
Selma May 15
An orange flower
sways in the wind,
like the curl that falls across your forehead.
I am reminded of the shape
of your eyes,
the curve of your hips,
your smile in the sun.

One day,
I‘ll hold your hand
while you carry a little version of you
and my life will be absolute.
It’ll be all of you,
all of me,
cradled in your arms,
always.
Selma May 9
When you looked me
In the eye
And said you wanted to die -
To let go of Life‘s grasp,
I saw her cry
And beg for your forgiveness.
Selma Apr 17
A wound I mistook for healed
opened itself last night.
I slipped and spiraled
in my skin,
and I remembered what it was like
to be fourteen again,
and miserable with every glance
in the mirror.

Oh teenage girl,
I wish I could love you
into healing.
I long to soothe you
into breathing.
for now,
I keep you shut
in the back of a dusty drawer.
One day,
I‘ll learn to love you.
Selma Mar 29
I spiral
Until I have talked myself
Out of living
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