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y'ay'a Sep 2018
mother dearest
tell me when this hellhole of a house
is meant to start feeling like a home
tell me when my body
will stop feeling like a misaligned,
jumbled mess of skin and bones

mother dearest
tell me when my heart will stop hurting
over people i lost but never got to meet
tell me when i'll stop feeling sorry
for all my lost dreams
i let get crushed beneath my feet

mother dearest
tell me how i'm expected to let myself be loved
when not even you
afforded me that luxury i dreamed of
when not even you
would take me as i am; tell me
how am i meant to feel loved ever again

mother dearest
tell me how it's possible
to claim to love your own
and yet at the same time
to leave them

mother dearest
i still love you
y'ay'a Sep 2018
[after] it happened
there was not [much] else
i [thought,] about
had ever hurt me [this] much
i stayed up for days
and barely ate for days after that,
thinking, "this all there [is]
and this is all there ever will be"
and [my] insides caved in
my [last] home
had crumbled
had withered away like the rest of them
had said "[goodbye.]"
without even uttering a word
these are my words:
[i'm] [sorry.]
y'ay'a Sep 2018
there are times where
i can't quite get myself
to say "we"

somehow it feels too intimate
somehow, it feels as though
i'm crossing lines i should not
by referring to "us" as one

even "you and i"
seems to blur
these invisible lines

i don't know quite yet
but i'd like to think
there's still time
them: you've got time to grow
them: and i have time to watch you grow
me, thinking: you're right. we have time
me instead: you're right. there's still time
y'ay'a Sep 2018
they were more for comfort, anyway
so i didn't think it mattered
that the end of the laces began to fray
and the exterior was tattered

it was more for my own peace
so i paid it no mind
how it hung well past my knees
or how the white had greyed with time

they soothed the lonely nights
so i think i felt upset
and when they left without a goodbye
i guess i feel regret

— The End —