a mother's love can only extend so far.
it stops at a dismal shore, and gravel slices at small feet.
the comfort of a favorite meal is further out.
the comfort of a warm embrace is further out.
the comfort of a path to healing is much, much further out.
so much so, in fact, that rather than assisting me on my path, a "mother's love" stands in the way.
and so i let myself drift further out to sea,
where memories of being left behind,
of my hair tugged this way,
when tender wounds colored in red and green and grey
would bloom across my skin,
disgust, distaste, neglect
thinly veiled by a siren's deceptive call
lack of food, lack of care
an intentionally ignorant hand tracing my scars
dirty clothes and sweaty palms and greasy hair,
the choice to mar the child you bore.
i will forever drown beside these memories,
and they will drown with me-
there is no lighthouse for a mother's love
not when she so maliciously continues to stare
still, i do not push past her
i do not swim to the shore.
i drown in the emptiness occupying the space in which there should have been connection.
i inhale the scent of my own agony.
i learn to relish the taste of solitude.
i learn to live (and die) alone.
the sun sets, and an adult has been twisted out of my once-adolescent shadow.
the woman is rendered helpless, no longer in control of her child.
she finally steps out of our way,
both lady and daughter have decayed amidst the crushing expectation of being what cannot be.
they eat my corpse alive, feast on the cries for help repressed beneath my jugular
and the hatred growing cold between my ribs.
the last remains of my existence wash up onto shore,
for i have been the comfort of a favorite meal.
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
blakekathryn
jbbartram-illu
vaporwave
areudirty
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
janainaart
