daughter
your high pitch in the morning
got me thinking, memorizing
your voice, a routine
my silence, faded in the scene
the way my skin touches
brushes with hidden grudges
like i’m renting out my shell
where your pain used to dwell
when i look into the mirror,
i pray i’m not another bearer
of your tightly knotted grief
what you swore you wouldn’t give
oh mother, i tried as my legs shaking
from all the signs chasing
not to tie the same noose
not to mirror your bruise
not to eat your patience whole
not to shrink into a role
of duty dressed as love
that we believe are sent from above
stripping your skin,
bleeding your bones
the price of hiding your sin
a hefty greed to be left unknown
my mother, a martyr
for the oath of loving harder
the very source of my tiresome anger
but now i am in the latter
i fight back my condescending sneer,
because i guess i am your daughter.
tick tock
talking about fear,
it’s about height.
me, crossing the bridge,
cars below rushing, speeding
my head buzzing:
i might fall.
my left foot then slipped on a puddle,
these shoes have no fucking traction.
i’m three steps away,
i told myself,
i swear i might fall.
but was it the fall that i feared
or the fact that
i was alone?
because if you cut me open
and nothing shrieks louder
than the ghost you left inside me,
haunting,
chanting:
you were right.
i was wrong.
i argued time is kind:
every second i get to kiss you,
every minute i laugh with you,
every hour i talk to you,
every night i lay next to you,
every day i smiled at you,
time was a friend.
but you said—
time is a ruthless monster
creeping in
crawling under your skin.
each mark meant
your mother,
your birthday wish,
your childhood dream,
your value,
your tears,
your thoughts,
your desperation,
your loss,
your anger,
your grudge,
your hopelessness,
your wrongs—
you.
now you
are slipping from my grip.
you are being swallowed
by that one lousy friend:
time.
that greedy cunt
is taking my day,
taking my night,
taking my hour,
taking my minute,
taking my second,
now all of you.
my grace.
my heart.
you might as well
push me over
off the bridge.
i feel dizzy.
the muscle in my legs
is gone.
i know i’m going to fall.
i had you.
now i don’t.
and maybe
just maybe
it wasn’t the bridge
all along.
dot dot dot
my love,
there’s many stars in the sky
each no better than my reason not to fly
my love,
it’s easier to count the dots—
of all doubts and faults
but my love,
i thought too much of the stars,
i seem to forget i live in this humble earth
the ground that is full of dirt and countless scars,
maybe that’s the reason for my birth.
i’m not scared of the rain, dirty feet, and heat stroke,
i’m born with more stars on my cloak.
my love, my love,
oh, my love
do you feel it? can you taste it?