Something inside said I should commit these to paper. Something I cannot explain. Giving this a title was also a piece of work, that came with its own deliberation. The deliberation to depict can be so hard sometimes…
I could never tell you that I love you, and really mean it, no matter how much I wanted to. Driven by the urge to want to experience something I know I never had. I would give anything for us to be normal. I would carry the water, if reaching out would mean our fingertips would touch, for the first time, past the anger, hurt and inflicted trauma of the years, and the overwhelming rubix cube of emotions I’ve had to learn to untangle over time to try make sense of myself, so I can one day stand upright, look my own in the eye and call myself a guardian, and moreover, a man. Heaven is my witness, I don’t know how I did it.
I don’t know how I gathered myself up, from the scattered pieces that came from being a part of you. How I managed to unpluck the many daggers of old, whose wounds still bleed on overcast days, to this day. Against your resolute refusal to change have I had to feign affection just for us to get along, yet even that, is never good enough. Pulling myself together has been a long thorny road, and those who never believed me and took my bruises lightly I have forgiven a long time ago. I don’t blame them. My story sounds unbelievable even to me sometimes. That a mother would do that to their own child.
I’ve lost enough tears over not understanding. Over wondering what is it I had done. If only I had enough fodder to make it true when I say the words I love you, I'm certain it would secure me the longing and affection I envy in others when they speak of home, hence I seldom come. I cannot trace and tell the mute awkward questions in our eyes when they meet. The same ones that fail the attempt before we even try. I don't mind carrying this water, for the both of us - only now, I got too used to walking alone.
These words are not my own anymore. I release them. They belong to the paper now. I need my children to shed tears of a different kind, over my grave, when the water spills, and gets swallowed up, by this bitter earth.
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Author:
Garth Rakumakoe (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 28th, 2023 13:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments5
Hi Garth )
brave to share this .)
it’s really sad tho
. some relationships or lack of can leave us with so much pain .. writing can be healing can’t it )
Trauma is difficult .. I can understand that
I was emotionally neglected by my mum when I was younger ..
Sorry for your past hurt .. and trauma
Did writing this help ?
Hi vb... There is some therapy and exhale in voicing the unsaid, most definitely. Thank you for your reading time, kind words, and understanding.
Yeah … can be good to write it out even if we can’t feel we can say this ti the person who hurt us . Definately .
That’s ok .. )
these words were sadly enjoyed more than my conscience is prepared to admit ..
such an emotionally charged outpouring .. how could anyone not be moved by them .. Neville
Thank you Neville.
I read this yesterday Garth
Couldn't find the words to comment
Same today
I think this write says it all
Respect
🙏🏼
'and the overwhelming rubix cube of emotions I’ve had to learn to untangle over time to try make sense of myself,'
'I don’t know how I gathered myself up, from the scattered pieces that came from being a part of you.'
'If only I had enough fodder to make it true when I say the words I love you, I'm certain it would secure me the longing and affection I envy in others when they speak of home'
'Something inside said I should commit these to paper. Something I cannot explain.'
'These words are not my own anymore. I release them. They belong to the paper now. I need my children to shed tears of a different kind,'
'I cannot trace and tell the mute awkward questions in our eyes'
' I don't mind carrying this water, for the both of us - only now, I got too used to walking alone.'
Brilliant!
(Poetic genius, purposed
as cathartic, self expression
insuring
that inherited cycle, ends
with our life's inequitable
footsteps...)
may these words soothe
your heart's callouses, dear Poet
I too have some experience
of a mother I cherish and love
whose presence in my life, is toxic
to say the least...
stay strong!
(I read and learn)
I have no words to show my gratitude for such a moving response. May healing and peace find the heart of man, always. We live and we learn sir, and from that we grow. Blessings and grace to you.
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