I never understood why my mother is like that.
She does not like being with people.
She locks herself inside the house.
Sometimes I see her under a blanket,
eyes swollen,
breathing like she is trying not to cry.
I never understood why my mother is like that.
She does not eat with us.
She cooks, then turns away.
Sometimes I see her pick rice from the floor, dirty, stepped on
And I feel shame burn my face
Because I do not understand hunger yet.
I never understood why my mother is like that.
She cleans the house until her hands ache,
Sweeps the floor like she is erasing something.
At eleven, she watches TV alone.
Sometimes she stares at the ceiling,
Murmuring words that sound like prayers
But feel like regrets.
I never understood why my mother is like that.
She does not let us play too long.
She yells.
She break our toys.
She hurt us.
Not because she wants to
But because anger reaches her faster than love.
Sometimes I see her gripping her purse,
Empty,
Like her patience.
I do not understand her.
I am afraid of her.
I think she is cruel.
I am just a child.
