melissaahowells
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*****
**** *** ** * at five mine was not the world but my Mother's opinion of me she was the be-all the say-so, the ender of me they can't look at you Mother would say her voice had a keen edge to it she knew how to cut a wound and deliver it she was my world then the mirror in front of me how could I refuse to look into its reflection but Mothers sometime tell lies there are Mothers who ought not to be Mothers in an effort to hide her own imperfections my Mother's mirror was the broken one not mine but for a long time her oft repeated messages bit into me I attempted to find off the bites but felt the wound daily others were of a similar opinion doling out suspect information you're invisible they'd say but I had arms/leg/a body/face no one cares to hear your cries but I learned how to soothe myself you have no need of love but at night I hugged myself into a tight vee we have no need of you but I had no need of them your silence makes you stupid but I knew their ignorance made them foolish how could they know me when they hadn't bothered to listen we prefer your silences but I preferred theirs more one can become worn down by so many words eventually I grew quiet and quieter hiding myself in the daylight pretending I was the darkness believing no one would notice me in my cloak of invisibility soon enough I vowed my sacred orphan-hood, my willful defiance my mulish stubbornness my long silences of the tongue these credos became my friends my comforters my protectors my mechanisms I acquired an ability to leave my body at will this was to be my best defense in my growing arsenal today when anyone tells me it wasn't my fault I feel anger my jaw automatically re-sets itself it took a while to know some of these people were telling me the truth deep within my dark self I carry with me the knowledge I was never flawed it wasn't my place to accept anyone's estimations of me the belief the I'm nothing the mirrors they looked into were reflections of their own ugliness its hard to be present old habits can be old friends I listen to myself now when the cloying voice that rises up the clamoring wine of self-doubt I reassure her it will take time to unmake the past but I have time within me are the seeds of many flower flowers I choose when to water them when to sit in the sun and the rain of my life I know beauty now who and what she looks like she's me I recognize her many voices I am her she is my friend and I am hers LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS WORK/POEM 11;46AM PST JUNE 13 2017 AND ALSO FOR THIS AUTHOR/POET/WRITER MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD re-edited for clarification June 14 2017 11:07AM PST Vote for this poem |
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