red bathwater
momma's gone
never gave her daughter
that gift she bought her
doesn't make her a monster
she thought she was stronger
but she just couldn't take it any longer

this poem is only two lines

Mama warned me about the Demons under my bed and the ones that speak nasty things in her head
she told me about the ones I'd find on the street that walk around with 2 eyes and a cold heart beat,
But never once did one tell me that the girl with the
icy blue eyes
could be so sweet.
she just needed help standing on her own two feet
Because
  not
     all
        demons
               are
                  mean.

You are beautiful, yet terrifying.
Pushing your way to Cloud 9 Reaching for the Sky
-getting high-
Flying away from your imperfect life- away from your mom
and dead beat dad
you cry
with your big blue eyes.
You tell them lies that you are perfectly alright,
But baby, I'm right here - Right here by your side
You just have to realize, that I even know that when you are on Cloud9
    You still want to Cry.

but darling, it'll be alright.

You are beautiful, yet terrifying.
Pushing your way to Cloud 9 Reaching for the Sky
-getting high-
Flying away from your imperfect life- away from your mom
and dead beat dad
you cry
with your big blue eyes.
You tell them lies that you are perfectly alright,
But baby, I'm right here - Right here by your side
You just have to realize, that I even know that when you are on Cloud9
    You still want to Cry.

but darling, it'll be alright.

You are beautiful, and yet terrifying, you push your limits to try to get to Cloud9 -
until you are flying, flying away from your imperfect life, away from your mom and your dad.
you swear you'll never become anything like them-
you never open up, but when you do, oh when you do, your blue beautiful eyes stream water- pouring down your face , you probably have realized that even on cloud nine
you feel misplaced

- but I'll always be here for you, Dollface . <3

You are beautiful, and yet terrifying, you push your limits to try to get to Cloud9 -
until you are flying, flying away from your imperfect life, away from your mom and your dad.
you swear you'll never become anything like them-
you never open up, but when you do, oh when you do, your blue beautiful eyes stream water- pouring down your face , you probably have realized that even on cloud nine
you feel misplaced

- but I'll always be here for you, Dollface . <3

I feebly linger around different wards;
cardiac care,
   Then endocrinology,
        Psychology and counselling-
Maternity; I stop. Finally feeling less like an  extra on the set of a dreary movie and suddenly i feel present.

I know this hospital like the back of my hand but never had i truly acknowledged how much brighter it was on this side of the hospita- Too bright; i cant concentrate.

Everything seems otherworldly ; the sun casts a brightness over the ward making the harsh fluorescent lights less noticeable , the rain trickling on the tin-like roof, the sound of newborns crying desperately as they are forcefully removed from the comfort of their mothers' womb.

Without noticing i find myself standing by a young mothers hospital bed, probably no older than 19, her wavy hair drenched in sweat and her face flushed but peaceful. She holds her baby so close her iv must be on the verge of falling out but she is so overwhelming calm.

Tears sting my face. Only now the warm tears reminded how cold my skin was. She looks up, looking confused. "Promise me-t-that-you'll love your ch-child no matter what mistake-mistakes they make?"

Let's take a second
Recalibrate this conversation
You do know, right
That I am the hinge on this life
I don't want praise
Or a pat on the back
But even hinges need WD-40
From time to time.
Fuck it,
I need to be greased constantly
I'm needy in that way
(Therapy helps)
But look into my day-to-day:
On my left is the Wall,
My root and my reason
My family (my girls).
The Wall is permanent, important
(Those words don't do it justice)
On me it relies on necessities of life.
For that Wall, I hold the Door.
The Door on the right,
Replaceable, not solid,
It's a means (to an end)
That Door is temporary, minute
(Compared to the house)
And on me it rests, day in and day out.
On ME it rests
I  am the only hinge
The other?
We won't talk about him
But hinges only have two hands, you see
One on the wall, one on the door
I have no hands that are free
Hinges are fierce little bitches
That are good at their jobs
But they age all the same

So fuck off.

I'm a 40-hour a-week'er,
365 days a mommy,
But nobody calls me 'wife',
Sleepy most days,
Donuts no glaze,
Navigating a new life.

Written in 2017
ilsa May 15

my mom found a little pot of dirt in my room,
with a dead plant in it.

she somehow found a little leaf on it, still alive
and green in all its glory.

now, determined to keep it alive and growing,
she waters it every day.

happy mothers day to all of the truly exceptional mothers out there. and mom, thanks for watering the piece of me that was still alive.
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