wretched. i exist as the wretched form of my mother, as if she were gazing into the mirror. instead of finding myself, i find her. i am the half eaten rotten heart on the dining table that my mother was full too finish. it lies on the dining table, forgotten about, i am made from … Continue reading letters to mother.
Tag: trauma
bruised.
Oh, when his knuckles turn red, He breathes heavy, I still stay, He loves me, he promised again, Mama, don’t you worry. Hand raised, His lips murmuring the sweet nothings, Fury burning his heart, Words lulling me to the oblivion, Oh mama, don’t you worry. Tender kisses, bruising grips, Blue eyes, skin a different shade, … Continue reading bruised.
The Scorned Persephone 