Thursday, 12 May 2016

Nothing Is Perfect (May 12, 2016)

I don't write
To crucify
The institution
Of motherhood.

Am dealing
With the hurt
And pain.

One misdirected

For whom
The world identifies
As my birth mother.

Never realizing
Or believing
Some women
Aren't meant
To become mothers.

Driving a car
That requires
One to earn
A license.

Child rearing

One is thrown
Into shark infested waters
Without any safety measures
And expected
To thrive.

Most do
For those
Who don't
The children suffer.

As I did
With my mom.

My younger brother
Went ballistic
In the summer of 1985.

Not sure.

It was pride
Or guilt.

In failing
With us.

That kept her
For reaching out
To the community
And family
For help.
Only hindsight

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: A reflective thought, on yesterday's poem, The Caged Bird, that I wrote. Yes, I retain a lot of anger and hostility, towards my mom, for the things that she did to me, over the years, which has harmed me, in my development, as a person, and her child. And yet, I wonder, how things would have turned out, had someone intervened, and took my brother out, and helped him, to deal with his own issues, which he took out, on the rest of the family.

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