fragile.

my mother tries to hide my step father from me

because the last memory i have of him is when he lay his hands on her

when he shattered her phone into a million little pieces, hurled insults at her,

told her she was nothing but an alcoholic mess, nothing but a failure to her children.

my mother tries to hide herself from me

because the last time she let me see her i pushed her to the ground and kicked her in the face

i told her she was nothing short of a disgrace

i told her i hated every cell in her body, that i’d wish for her death just so i could spit on her grave

my mother tries to hide me from myself

because the last time i really looked in the mirror

i took a knife to my wrist and slit the words die,

like a permanent tattoo on my left bicep,

i see it every day when i oil my skin,

i feel it every day when i walk in my skin.

my mother tries to hide me from the world

because she thinks it would beat me up harder than i do myself

she thinks that it would call me weak and a fool like i didn’t already label myself with those names

that it will treat me harsher than i do the little girl inside me

my mother thinks i’m fragile.

like a piece of finely cut diamond, she does not want me to fall in the wrong hands,

little does she know i am just but a collection of shards, pieced together with cello tape, hoping that no one would see my leaking emotions from the faucets i call eyes

my mother thinks i’m fragile.

like that embryo that grew in her stomach, she sees me like an egg

but what she doesn’t know is that behind this shell of my being, the yolk split long time ago,

the white of the egg burnt to a crisp

my brown skin is nothing but a collection of every trauma i have earned.