The night I heard my mother cry for the first time
"Betty Jones, Mama doesn't cry"â
That's what you had told me every night
The night I saw my mother's tainted golden hue skin for the first time
"Corsets, baby. I ain't born a sexy little thing"â
That's what you had told me every time
The night I saw my mother choking on the smoke for the first time
"Betty Jones, you gotta cook when you gotta cook"â
That's what you had told me each night
The night I fell asleep waiting for my father
"Babygirl, Daddy's gotta work. Who'll feed you otherwise?"â
That's what you had told me every night
The night I asked my father what dreams were
"A rich husband, that's for you, baby. For your brother, perhaps an ivy league"â
That's what you had told me each night
The night I asked for a birthday present
You got me a princess doll, looking pretty.
Never matter that the one with the sword remained on the shelf, forgottenâ
Like a songbird mocking the serenade.
The night I won a game with my brother for the first time
"I let you win, Betty. Men always win"â
That's what you had told me every night
The night I saw you all rugged up from a fistfight, battered and bruisedâ and I had asked you: 'Does it hurt?'
"I'm not a sissy like you, Betty"â
That's what you had told me every night
The night I drew you a pink flower
"Flower are for girls. Pink is for Missies. Don't you know that, Betty Jones?"â
That's what you had told me when you rejected my love tokon for the very first time
Crying songs of melancholy.
And I look for love at all the wrong placesâ
Like a dying songbird with no one left to serenade.
My husband gets me flowersâbut it doesn't make me happy, brother.
I got a rich husband, Daddyâ just as you wished. Got children too. But does it matter?
The corsets kill me, Mama. You never said it ain't easy to be a pretty little thing. Why didn't you?
When I finally sleep, Mama
Don't resurrect me like Lazarusâ
For my children are better off without me
For I'll teach my daughter and my son tooâ
That boys ain't crybabies. That girls needn't dream.
I'll serenade them tooâ
Like choking little songbirds born out of you.
For flowers never bloom on wastelands
And the world is far too bloodthirsty to ever notice the dead onesâ
So Mama, please let me sleep.
(This is an original piece. Please do not repost without credit. Thank you.)
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