I,
really, don’t know where I should start
not, even,
a surgeon could find my heart
I displayed
selfishness as a work of art
built impenetrable
walls, but they fell apart
the
moment I gave birth as a new mother
I was,
always, really close with my big brother
had a
great relationship with both older sisters
then I made
a mistake getting too close to a mister
my
beautiful walls couldn’t be rebuilt
even with
so much irreconcilable guilt
despite
needing the safety of a shield
I’m,
still, a mom with an innate curse to feel
I wish I
could change the way people are
but, it
is what it is, and life’s become too hard
way, too
deep are my numerous scars
still,
each night I gaze upon the stars
I wasn’t
really selfish; generous was the real me
to whom I
showed it was a choice I made freely
most people
never seem to understand me
they’re
all fake; they don’t know how to, just, “be”
frankly,
I’m sick and tired of explaining
and, even
with my son, I hated potty training
but, with
adults who are stuck and remaining
childish
pricks pointing fingers and love public shaming
I’m sick
of all the pain that I continue to feel
being
told to “shut up” is a big fucking deal
when it’s
my son who won’t let me begin to be “real”
if my,
own, son has no capacity within him to feel
whenever
those feelings slightly pertain to me
things
everyone needs; compassion, love and empathy
I’m not
asking too much so why continue to “be”?
all I
want is to be loved, just, for being me
©February
2017 – Tamara Imes-Nicholas
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