It’s dry and still in the house this afternoon,
The way houses are at 4:00 in December.
I feel a little itchy and claustrophobic,
Sitting on the floor.
I hate this ******* carpet.
Berber.

I know you love me,
But sometimes I wish you would let me destroy myself completely.

Darkening winter gray settles over us in a dull film,
Berber carpeting the world.
It seeps into the house through cracks in the doorframe you kicked down when we were locked out that night.
Into me too, coating my brain and joints and dreams in liquid fog.
The streetlights will be dark awhile yet.

Cotton ***** fill up my mouth
And I’m fine, just fine.
My grandmother’s favorite color was gray before people awarded points for such things.

It’s nearly night, now, and the sky swirls with peek a boo pink and blue where the clouds are thin and blowing.
No streetlights yet.
The shadows gather at their feet.
I pull out the spaghetti;
Time to start dinner.

Their little toes
little hand
little nose
them learning to stand!

I'm still only a child
and kids are absolutely wild
but with every baby i pass, i smile
cause one day, it'll be me compiled.

I will always defend you
My spirited child
One day you'll sit quietly
But for now, run wild

Laugh loudly, cry freely
Get mud in your hair
Let rainbows and sparkles
Dictate what you wear

Have no inhibitions
Sing and dance as you please
Come home with wet socks on
And scuffs on your knees

Fizz with electricity
Spin round and round
Do cartwheels and swing
Until the world's upside down

Delight in the lights
When we drive after dark
Keeping waving hello
To every dog in the park

Ask questions, big questions
'What about when we die?'
Look for the loved ones
We lost in the sky

Play fight with your brother
Make him laugh till he cries
And chat from your car seat
The what's, when's and whys

One day you'll care
You'll sit quietly and blush
We'll get there, I know
But for now, what's the rush?

I will always defend you
My spirited child
You're never too much
You're bright, free and wild

Growing up, a girl watches, learns,
The truths of boys and men—
so often unturned.

“Boys will be boys,”
a phrase we know,
implying girls must shoulder the load.

Girls mature fast,
women pick up the cast—
an unspoken burden, a silent decree:

Bear the weight of their irresponsibility.

In a world gripped by misogyny,
women face judgment,
their futures unclasped.

Absorbing shame for games they play,
men walk away, free to go their way.

Homes abandoned,
men now free,
their true selves unknown.

Disgrace drapes women—a heavy yoke,
neglect shatters hope.

Promises unkept,
fathers vanish as children wept.
Guilt escaped with practiced ease,
duty dodged, a ghost on the breeze.

Children and wife he never knew,
society laughs at the pain he withdrew.

Children carry his woes—
identities shaped by the hurt he chose.
Shame shouldered early,
remembering blame.

Love claimed,
but never there.
Strain felt in his name,
unfairness echoes.

Abandoned women and children grow—
a daunting endeavor men overthrow.

Shadows linger, burdens remain;
a future carved where hope will maintain.

Every struggle faced—a dawn,
strength carries on.

Agèd lady sits,
holding her silver and gold —
Anne, Mary, the Son

Anne’s daughter’s the moon,
sits on the throne of wisdom —
crowned in golden stars

Moon begets the Son
who’s fathered by breath of flame —
Both pierced by a spear

Two women, one son —
A motherly trinity
that shines in splendor

when i was younger I would crawl into bed and try to stave off the gut-crush of guilt. i was guilty about everything. everything was small and somehow the biggest thing in the world. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) it guilt came crushing in. usually i would cry. if i couldn't fight it off by myself, i'd roll in on myself like a dying bug. limbs a tangle. twitching slightly. sometimes i could catch myself. count myself into oblivion until i forgot whatever it was. (please just make me clean. i only want to be clean. i am a good person, i promise.) usually i'd holler for my mother, my god. quiet, at first. finally loud enough for her to hear me form down the hall. (god wanted to watch tv. god probably pretended not to hear me until i was screaming.)
"what's wrong?" she'd ask me.
"can you come in here, please?" my voice. small.
there she was, every time. a gray silhouette in a slice of golden light. and i would confess to her, like she was god. I was not raised religious. (i needed something to cling to.) she absolved me every night. scornful, reassuring. (i think i am lucky i was not raised catholic. because i had a god who loved me.) she taught me guilt and burned me free of it every night.
i don't confess anymore.
i have not seen god since i was twelve and my other became human. sometimes i think of writing letters and burning them, to purge the crushing feeling form my chest. sometimes i think of making myself throw up. most of the time i switch it off like she taught me, think about something else and fall asleep. (i sleep with the light off, now.) the dark does not stroke my hair. the dark does not tell me to apologise. the dark does not tell me i am good, that it isn't my fault. (i still need someone to tell me it isn't my fault.)

Hi, I'm

little girl, you're a dreamt dancer, a once hopefully ballerina, in a music box that was built at an early age.
bigger life will be reflected back to you, but not for you.

This is my wife,
This is my mother,

young woman, why are you here?
why did you let them do this to you?

I call her Honey.
We call her Mom.

"no, wait, I'm
know me
remember who I am/was," you say.

Honey! Where is...
Mom! Can you...

          , far from the path now.
a maze of thorns and always sickening surprises.

must get the dose right, must make sure the carb count is right, must check that the blood sugar is right for the son who can't do it himself.

life's toss of a coin, suspiciously rigged perhaps? superstition? i don't know, but you're cornered, back to the wall, no railing.

must do all the paper work, must support all of his dreams, must do all of the planning, mustn't have time for yourself, your life.

must continue.

HONey! I need you to...
Mom! Look at...

where have you gone, dreamt dancer?
oh, to the Graveyard.
inside the mind where wild thoughts and hopes and adventure go to pass.

no support, only frayed webbing leading to nowhere, or to venom, sister, brother, "friend".

only you now. and me I guess. unwilling, but an understanding therapist. an angry observer and a tired voice. the daughter to the mother.

Well, what the **** do you want me to do, HONEY!
Mom! Come here!

you're tired, I know. painful sleep and long nights dedicated to other people along with your mind. your body, your bones are load bearing. it's an incalculable weight when caring for others.

Insert Your Name Here:

HONEY! HONEY! HONEY!

I don't know, HONEY! HONEY!

Mom! Mom! Mom!

Hey, Mom!