Oh how it must itch-
The lady whose body is
Covered in hard plaster.
Finely carved face of alabaster.

The miracle maiden!
The matriarch with
The eternal smile
Could never feed
A hungry child

The dress she wears is a
Skin tight suit.

Shield atop shield.
Even in the heat.
her sweet baby ****
Burning beneath
Layers upon layers.

Prayers upon prayers
Would only save her.

a mother in her heart
   dreams
of days of love

and falls to this time of
   reality
of here and now

She is now all elbows and bird limbs
Eating her ever smaller
Hearing her cry in the night ****** nails on a chalk board
I want to hold her help her
Be the rescue swimmer in her ocean of tears
Holding for I am soft
Her daughter no fine specimen
A coward
A softy
Not once did she hold me
In seventh grade when I had my first kiss and he broke up with me for the girl with blonde hair and bangs
She said I was just too young
In eighth grade I fell in lust with a high school boy for the first time and ended it when I got bored but not before I gave him what i thought symbolized love.
I didn't tell her
In 9th grade I fell in love with a boy that would never be able to love me the way I wanted him to. But I stayed  for four years until I couldn't find any more of myself to break off and give to him.
She told me I would get over it.
I have a mother who the world made cold
And she had a daughter that felt too much
who she taught feeling was a waste of time

An itch I cannot proclaim
Through the salt and remains
That drips through my eyes

I yell, I scream and I beg
Entombed forever in your silent
Disregard, so scared

Of making the waves move.

Close and shut, these pearls
They are but a shame
My weakness and your fragility

All on display for everyone to wear.

Covering up my tones with your
Sand infested ears
You shamble away in rage and disarray

I am still your pearl, still

You let the ocean take my name.

-Rain

Saturday mornings growing up
my mother made me clean the bathroom

. windex . bleach
. scrub brush . rags
. mop . bucket . broom . dustpan
. lots of paper towels

she insisted I clean the bathroom
every Saturday morning
before I did anything else
with absolutely no chance of an allowance
she paid me plenty she said

. shelter . food . clothing
. television . internet . video games
. books . some sort of education

not to mention

. life

“do it because you love me”

so waking up Saturday
meant cleaning the bathroom

it meant my hands reeked of chemicals
while my friends enjoyed games I couldn't join
it meant I missed the best of all
the cartoons everyone else watched
it meant I didn’t feel like loving my mother

for years I begrudgingly

. scrubbed . wiped . cleaned

that bathroom
until it sparkled - until it shined
like the top of the Chrysler building

. sink . mirror
. toilet . tub
. floor

all of it spotless
love you mom

then in college
there's this woman that I'm living with
this woman that provides me with

. shelter . food . clothing
. television . internet . etc.

and she makes me feel alive
so I clean her bathroom
and when she asks me, “why?”
all I can think to say is

“I did it because I love you”

and it feels like that's the truth

i wish my mother and father never met.

that is the first thought that crosses to me in my mind whenever things get rough. how i wish they never met, how i yearn for a reality where their paths diverged, where their match was never forged. it's the kind of pain that lies within their union, a relentless ache that seeps into the very essence of my being.

i wish my mother and father never met.

why did the fate allow the stars to align? i did not imagine that in a single moment of cosmic collision, a seed was planted, and i was condemned to bear its bitter fruit. i never knew that the torment would bring forth by the tendrils of their oblivious love entwined.

i wish my mother and father never met.

to envision a world where their lived caused me
chaos. i was craving for too much love and care. a sanctuary where can i break free from the chains of their discord, where my soul can flourish untainted by the weight of their discontent.

i wish my mother and father never met.

in the most grief of longing, i was forced to find my own strength and to stand up on my own two feet. i have learned to navigate the treacherous waters of their fusion, to the salvage shards of happiness wreckage they left behind.

i wish my mother and father never met.

i wish they didn't. i have always dreamt of a life unburdened by the weight of their presence, where the fear of love and its subsequent pain does not linger within me. oh, how i'd die for a world where their love did not cast shadows on my soul, where the scars of their struggles do not color the way i perceive affection. in this alternate existence, i would not carry the weight of their past, their own echoes of their own sorrow. i imagine a life where the walls i've built around my heart would crumble, where vulnerability is no longer a cause for alarm. a life where i am unafraid to offer my own affections, knowing they will be cherished and reciprocated in kind.

i wish my father and mother had never met. i just wanted to take a leap of hope from the love that transcends the limits of blood and anguish. am i really that hard to love?

i am not
my mother’s daughter

she is horselike
she is free
she is constant and steady
she is strong

i am
          a rabbit
     i am

          scattered
     imprisoned

               trapped

          i freed myself
     i’ll never look back again