Now I understand why my mother is like that.
She avoids people who whisper lies
And tear her name apart.
She hides under a blanket
When my parents fight
Not to sleep,
But to survive the noise.
Now I understand why my mother is like that.
She does not eat with us
Because there is not enough food.
She lets hunger sit in her stomach
So ours does not.
She picks rice from the floor
Because waste feels heavier
Than pride.
Now I understand why my mother is like that.
She cleans and cleans
Because if her hands keep moving,
Her thoughts will not destroy her.
At eleven, she watches her favorite show
To borrow a life that smiles back,
Whispering endings she never gets.
Now I understand why my mother is like that.
She does not let us play too long
Because fear follows her everywhere.
She breaks our toys in rage,
And her hands become weapons
Before her heart can stop them.
She holds her empty purse,
Wanting to buy us food,
Wanting to say sorry,
Having nothing but guilt.
Now I understand her.
Yes, I am scared of her
But is scared everyday.
I thought she was bad.
But she is drowning,
And still reaching for us.
No.
She is not bad.
I was just a child.
She is just a mother
Carrying too much
With bare hands
And I love her.
