Birthdays are not my things,
I'm not into gift-giving really,
But I'll give this poem to you
Because, Mom, you're special to me.

Your beautiful brown eyes
A window to your soul
I can tell you everything
My mommy, my friend

I know you love me, unconditionally
It is the one certainty
I have always known
Your love for me never questioned

Mommy, you are my anchor
In my happy days
And my darkest days
My mommy, I love you unconditionally

Mommy with your plastic gloves.
Why didn't you give me just one hug?
Tell me it was ok or that I was sane.
Your ***** ancestry with the violin.
Another fake just the same.
Can you tell me I'm ok?

My Robot Sisters in step.
one, two , three
fall in line -
four, five , six.

can you really love Mommy?
can you tell my brother he is ok?
why did you hate the men in life?
what happened to you in your little sun dress?
what was the slight of hand that changed so many lives?
so many hidden answers and no more time.

me with so many woman just to say the debt was paid.
everyone with your face, I made them worship me .
never loved them, I was the one that won.
Me with Sally, Sue and Stella they all adored me,
many that I don't know the name, they all loved me unchanged.

I showed you,
but it wasn't the same.

as i sit tense on this plane, i wonder
am i closer to you up here?
do you truly look from the heavens?
do you protect me from regrets?

sweet small talk
fills the child with lies
as murderous eyes stalk
they seek to bleed you till you die

paranoia is incorrect
giddiness unkempt
fear is easier to accept
either way, doom will be met

“mommy, can you do it for me?”
a guilty question wrought in youth
“my love, can you set me free?”
an age-old concept based on truth

death is inevitable and too powerful
shaking, i refuse to accept that
i am ashamed to still be fearful
in my comfort zone, i’m glad

if i join you
what should i say?
i might die once more if i do
simply because you were such a light
a ray that shone upon my darkness
your warm embrace held me quickly
and released all too soon

and if i may tell you,
on the next blood moon...



i truly do love you.

I'm sorry, mommy.

You told me you loved me. For the first time in years. You were tucking me in bed with tears stinging your eyes.

I stared back, looking at the ugly wrinkles lining your face.

"Well...I don't!"

I turned away, staring at the plain white wall.

You shouldn't have seen my wounds.

Sometimes I create daydreams,
with nothing omitted,
and if others could see,
then I would be committed.

Daydreams of the pain,
that I’d make you endure,
till you begged me to stop,
as you writhe on the floor.

Dreams of carving “bad mommy”,
into your forehead,
so that your always reminded,
even if I’m dead.

Dreams of hurting him,
for what he’s done to our son,
you never lifting a finger to stop,
not ******* one.

Using me like you did,
like I wasn’t even real,
like I wasn’t a person,
or a human that could feel.

Seven years we’re together,
raising your daughter as mine.
You say you never loved me,
you faked it the whole time?

You only stayed,
because you were pregnant with bub?
In seven ******* years,
you couldn’t find something to love?!

You didn’t want to be,
a single mom of two?!
So you cheated with him?!
Well **** him, and *******!

Now I know the truth,
I know how you got that raise,
it wasn’t just him,
you ****** the entire place.

All of that I could forgive,
but he treats our son like ****,
and you just let it happen,
and I’ll never forget.

He knows that I’ll **** him,
if he ever lays a hand,
but it’s coming to a head,
and I’m about to ******* stand.

He’s all I got left,
you took all the rest,
and he’s the reason I’m here,
why my heart beats in my chest.

I wanted our son,
the moment I knew he was conceived,
and when he was born healthy,
I was so ******* relieved.

So you better pray,
that he doesn’t hurt bub,
because I’m one step from insanity,
all I need is a shove.

You ruined my life,
so you better take care of our sons’,
because my daydreams are vivid,
and I’m dying to try one.

I handle my children as if they might disappear.

Sometimes when I am holding them,
My face pressed to their hair,
My hands around their little fists
Like so many eagles
Cloak their nests
In feathered wings,

I feel their edges start to blur
As if pulled by a strong hand
Through a silver curtain.

“You can’t have them!”
I yell at the space above their heads.
“They’re mine!”

And yet I feel the weight of being gifted
So many treasures that
I don’t deserve,
That I try to earn.

I handle my children as if someone might come back for them.
Speaking to me sternly, they will explain
“These are too precious, too rare,
For you.”
But I would not let them go.

I would come after them.
Charging like a lioness
I. Would. Come to Them.
Through every burning flame
And every mangled wreck
And sterile hospital bed,
I. Would. Run to Them.

Dragging both legs
And seeping blood
And holding the heart
Inside my chest,
With my own two hands
I. Would. Crawl to Them.

I would die for them.

I handle my children as if they might disappear.  
Clutching their tiny bodies and all their edges,
Holding them in, keeping them whole.

Because she cared for me
Run
To
Me
Told
Mommy

To me and mommy
He was different
To her thinking space and brain
He held a gun

Mommy
Loved
I

He lied
He hurt
He screamed
To me,
I loved him though it was
The definition of tough love: