run mother run

nothing in this world scares me more than my mother. she is tiny and she is frail. if you blew air too hard she'd crumble into dust or perhaps the shit she puts up her nose.

there is nothing in this world that scares me the way my mother does. she is harsh and she is materialistic. she does not see a human she sees the accessories. she does not see a woman, she sees competition. something to conquer

her own words, might i add.

no one's eyes scare me the way my mothers do. the way i try to explain myself in her presence, she looks at me as if she's about to snap. as if she has a hatchet ready waiting behind her, about to bring it down from her head.

or perhaps she'll storm off as if me or my sentence never existed in the first place. 

nothing scares me the way my mothers demeanor does. i find glimpses of her in my fear. when i approach a person or try to ask if i can eat now. i see her staring back sometimes. and i will still flinch.

she speaks harshly and she does not find me worthy to be her daughter. i'm too quiet and i'm too dark. shy, small and sensitive. all of the s's.

i scare her and the way i write causes her conspiracy. she scares me and the way she writes causes me conspiracy.

was it doomed to be this way? was it too late by the time she realized i would've been a girl? or perhaps that an abortion wasn't an option?

was it when my father didn't love her and she had to do this alone?

or was it when she gave up before i started breathing?

any matter

my mother is a creatin and by god nothing terrifies me more than the look she has in her eyes. and i don't say this lightly nor am i trying to be a poet.

it's like a beast is in there and it's waiting to tear me apart. her hatred overcame the love she never tried to bare towards me.

and yet here i am, mom. i'm writing about you again.