Before you left, you let snakes go down my throat. I talk like an angel, but deep down I am venomous and ready to kill.
Mother, I think I heard you laugh.
My face red and swollen, because serpents wouldn’t let me breathe. I was crying because no one came to hold me.
Mother, would you be laughing if you knew about my choking?
I screamed “Death! Take me now!” as I tried to hang below those flowery branches. That day, a man has cut me with his knife and laughed at my rejection and uncomfort.
I woke up with the rope still around my neck and I was right next to him in bed.
Mother, what’s like to be the devil?
What’s it like to be named after so pure, but in reality be like a weed? I’m sure you killed without hesitating.
My face, your face, are alike. My anger and yours, hot and very similar. My envy and greed and yours, identical. Why must I be cursed to be like you?
If I wanted, I could choke myself to death again. I’ll screamed “I don’t want to be the devil!” Although I had unknowingly, and unconsciously followed your steps.
At least I am ashamed for acting like a wild animal.
Mother, the day you cried, you did not care. You walked away.
I was helpless. The wound, the mistake. My father was helpless.
My aunt was furious. My brothers and sister, confused. It was meteoroid impact on the moon.
How could I call you my mother when all I learned is the knife carried in your hand?