I Have Issues With My Mother
Mother.... Mother.
Mother.
As I grew up
I knew you as
The woman who loved Church
Who made no time
or had no time
to live
Life the way that she should have
I knew you as
The woman
Who demanded
That I go to church
And ba<x>sed my worth for that entire week
If I did or did not go
I knew you as
A woman
who hated
Me
But not on purpose
Who hated
Art
Basketball
Soccer
Friendship
Girlish laughs on the phone
Self-ex<x>pression
Who hated
My PRIVATE journal
After you found it
And read it
EVERY
SINGLE
WORD
Like
Bread crumbs
from the lips
Of God
Words,
THAT I WOULD NEVER SHARE WITH YOU
And used them against me
To maintain your power
Your control
Over my identity
It only made you happy
when
I listened
When I didn’t fight
Especially on Sunday mornigns
When you’d wake me up
Sit me down
When you
Picked out
Ugly Dresses
Ugly Skirts
Blouses
Heels
To go to a place
Where people defined
You
By how well we dressed
How much we paid attention
How much we cried
You
Paid attention
To how much I cried.
Scrutinized my face
Until My only choice
Was numbness
Silence
You didn't want a single tear on my face
But because I wasn't allowed to cry.
I was only allowed to smile
Like a doll made of cold glass
This showed off
How much of a great mother you had been
How much you had worked
In my ugly dress,
Tight heels
Permed hair
I became a mannequin
Inside a church
Next to you.
I was to love Jesus
And
Not
Think to Love Him
For my own reasons.
But Church was your place to cry
But not mine
What belonged to me was
The idea of happiness
But I couldn't stand it anymore
Mother.
I'd slip into heels
That hurt my big feet
I’d permed my thick curly hair
just so I could look 'just right'
Your 'Sunday Best.'
Never once was I asked
______, do you love Jesus?
You never asked,
But of course I did.
I always will.
But loving Jesus
Is not the same
As wearing shoes that don’t fit
Loving Jesus is
Not letting go of everything
That sets you free
Including your tears
Just to prove
That
Your work
Made my life perfect.
Loving Jesus
Does not mean
Painting a face
But to you it did
Because you loved the Church more than you loved me.
More than you loved
My high position in the basketball league
My ability to silence a crowd at Poetry Slam
More than you loved
My passion for writing
The rebel in me
When you perused my private thoughts
And realized
What I had done
That you never did
So
You took out the big guns
You churched me with Jesus
As Maya Angelou would say
And demanded that I let go of my dreams
Of me
For you.
But I must tell you today
I WILL RISE
away from your unsatisfied eyes
away from your intense hold
away from your tired eyes
That have chained me for so long
I will rise
From your hold on my personality
From the culture
That you have so deeply
Etched into my skull
The culture
That told me
I couldn't be free
That I couldn't
Follow my passions
That I couldn't be
HUMAN!
I will rise
From your
Expectations
So meager in my
Eager eyes
As I struggled for
deep, natural air
I will rise
From your inability
To protect me
To love me
The way a mother should
From what I wanted YOU
To be
From what you will never be for me
I will rise.
Because you may have birthed me
But was born alone.
And will die alone.
And I refuse to be reduced my your expectations
I WILL break free from
The sculpted set of bricks
That you call Me!
You will turn your back on me for this
But at least NOW my feet are free from
Your HARD pavements
And eager to LEAP into The Unknown
And perhaps
Eager enough
To Find my OWN church.
You were thrown into cement
By your dark, twisted past
Then by work
And Embraced
Church as your new cage
You've chosen pain over me
And I refuse to do the same.
This time, I'm choosing me.
I love you,
But there's a limit to love
Especially
When the self begins to die
Before it got to live.
My love for you will never be enough.
As yours refused to capture me
For who I am
And who I have always been.
Mom.
Mother.
As I grew up
I knew you as
The woman who loved Church
Who made no time
or had no time
to live
Life the way that she should have
I knew you as
The woman
Who demanded
That I go to church
And ba<x>sed my worth for that entire week
If I did or did not go
I knew you as
A woman
who hated
Me
But not on purpose
Who hated
Art
Basketball
Soccer
Friendship
Girlish laughs on the phone
Self-ex<x>pression
Who hated
My PRIVATE journal
After you found it
And read it
EVERY
SINGLE
WORD
Like
Bread crumbs
from the lips
Of God
Words,
THAT I WOULD NEVER SHARE WITH YOU
And used them against me
To maintain your power
Your control
Over my identity
It only made you happy
when
I listened
When I didn’t fight
Especially on Sunday mornigns
When you’d wake me up
Sit me down
When you
Picked out
Ugly Dresses
Ugly Skirts
Blouses
Heels
To go to a place
Where people defined
You
By how well we dressed
How much we paid attention
How much we cried
You
Paid attention
To how much I cried.
Scrutinized my face
Until My only choice
Was numbness
Silence
You didn't want a single tear on my face
But because I wasn't allowed to cry.
I was only allowed to smile
Like a doll made of cold glass
This showed off
How much of a great mother you had been
How much you had worked
In my ugly dress,
Tight heels
Permed hair
I became a mannequin
Inside a church
Next to you.
I was to love Jesus
And
Not
Think to Love Him
For my own reasons.
But Church was your place to cry
But not mine
What belonged to me was
The idea of happiness
But I couldn't stand it anymore
Mother.
I'd slip into heels
That hurt my big feet
I’d permed my thick curly hair
just so I could look 'just right'
Your 'Sunday Best.'
Never once was I asked
______, do you love Jesus?
You never asked,
But of course I did.
I always will.
But loving Jesus
Is not the same
As wearing shoes that don’t fit
Loving Jesus is
Not letting go of everything
That sets you free
Including your tears
Just to prove
That
Your work
Made my life perfect.
Loving Jesus
Does not mean
Painting a face
But to you it did
Because you loved the Church more than you loved me.
More than you loved
My high position in the basketball league
My ability to silence a crowd at Poetry Slam
More than you loved
My passion for writing
The rebel in me
When you perused my private thoughts
And realized
What I had done
That you never did
So
You took out the big guns
You churched me with Jesus
As Maya Angelou would say
And demanded that I let go of my dreams
Of me
For you.
But I must tell you today
I WILL RISE
away from your unsatisfied eyes
away from your intense hold
away from your tired eyes
That have chained me for so long
I will rise
From your hold on my personality
From the culture
That you have so deeply
Etched into my skull
The culture
That told me
I couldn't be free
That I couldn't
Follow my passions
That I couldn't be
HUMAN!
I will rise
From your
Expectations
So meager in my
Eager eyes
As I struggled for
deep, natural air
I will rise
From your inability
To protect me
To love me
The way a mother should
From what I wanted YOU
To be
From what you will never be for me
I will rise.
Because you may have birthed me
But was born alone.
And will die alone.
And I refuse to be reduced my your expectations
I WILL break free from
The sculpted set of bricks
That you call Me!
You will turn your back on me for this
But at least NOW my feet are free from
Your HARD pavements
And eager to LEAP into The Unknown
And perhaps
Eager enough
To Find my OWN church.
You were thrown into cement
By your dark, twisted past
Then by work
And Embraced
Church as your new cage
You've chosen pain over me
And I refuse to do the same.
This time, I'm choosing me.
I love you,
But there's a limit to love
Especially
When the self begins to die
Before it got to live.
My love for you will never be enough.
As yours refused to capture me
For who I am
And who I have always been.
Mom.
26-30, M
