I'm repulsed to hear you speak the way you do.
How you presuppose I want to stay
In serene waters. Stroked, soothed and loved.
I despise your desire to shield me from the fallacious;
The distress, the scary and the despair.
Dear Mother, your protection is pointless.
All I've ever done is suffer in your arms,
Holding me close to your cold heart.
Hard hands rub my back while I cry,
Hard hands beat my back when I lie.
No one does that more than you. Dear Mother,
If you love me so, why do you insist on calling me
A slut. These words are shared between myself and a million.
My self and the others.
Myself and you.
You with your rolls. You with your dirt.
Always wanting to see yourself in me
Or wanting to see me in yourself.
I am not you.
Nor am I yours to protect.
Piss off.
Please?
- Author: Antoinette ( Offline)
- Published: February 4th, 2017 10:21
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 34
Comments4
This poem, as I read it, is both the expression of the need to get out from under the overly-protective and scrutinizing wings of your mother, and also an expression of the desire to be accepted and loved by the one who carried you in her womb. Great write! Welcome to MPS. Look forward to reading more! 🙂
Thank you so much!
Wonderfully written and expressed Great write
Thank you
xx
Welcome
Thanks for sharing ANTOINETTE ~ a very powerful and poignant second poem. All of us who are old enough to have cut the "umbilical" can empathise ! All Mothers are possessive and molding and want us to be just like them and don't want to let go until we are. I live separate but go every Sunday for lunch and that now satisfies her . "All Young People wanna break free from the constrictions and anachronisms of Home" Yours BRIAN
thank you for reading, understanding and commenting!
xx
Thanks for sharing ANTOINETTE ~ a very powerful and poignant second poem. All of us who are old enough to have cut the "umbilical" can empathise ! All Mothers are possessive and molding and want us to be just like them and don't want to let go until we are. I live separate but go every Sunday for lunch and that now satisfies her . "All Young People wanna break free from the constrictions and anachronisms of Home" Yours BRIAN
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.