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A call from many a women to their mothers

To healing, to forgiveness; how to not be a “tragedy of your experiences”; how to get it back

I am here tomorrow, gone today

I am equal, yet still not free

I left in search of more though much is here

I am in a garden of spirits

In need of the art your work makes, as is my fate

Last I remember my soul was being hauled into a grand hall

A dilemma not to be shared,

I revealed without much thought

Months later, as though you knew, I would fall

So much is here but I have left in search of more

My heart yearns for that one missed call

Mother I write only what I recall

When he beat you, slapped you, cursed your ways, your taste, and the food you make, you got on your knees and crawled

He would sleep with other women, use your money, drink his tail ends off, and you surprisingly kept true to yours

I watched, they watched, and as he got more possessive, with time you fought

Eventually after many near attempts of killing me physically, then the attempts to kill me emotionally, mentally, and you physically, you two fell back in love and gave it your all

Mother you say the love got stronger after the pain,

Do you remember though when he hit me when I did things not in his pace?

Do you remember the food left cold?

Do you attempt to recall the smell of his disdain?

The women he would not hesitate to give your bed place

Mother, the times you slept by me crying after I was unconscious because he deals with things in a haste

I am not at all innocent, nor are you, but this is your man, a character to talk and never act in his impediment of good and just ways

I need to know that you recall, that I watched and they watched

Before my love can be its all

Yes, yes mother, I do forgive and forget

I do not hate that you loved him then and do now

I do despise though that my definition of love is what I saw

I do not hate that he hit me and honestly made me feel like shit; a waste for conceiving me

Worst has happened than his attempts to make me fall

I despise not knowing how to love although I have found whom to love

When he says his opinion, I say mine to make him at fault

When he kisses me, makes love to me, bathes me, I lay as if in a hearse

When he gives, I give, he takes, I take, we compete –it’s a damn race

Mother you stole my womanhood,

He gave me his manhood,

I cannot live in a soul that is not mine

I am in this garden of spirits hoping you give me what I lost

Hear me mother

An attempt to heal on my own has left me a great cost

He told me not to tell that our relationship was falling apart but here I am in the middle of this call

I do not want to unintentionally scar my daughter with hypocrisy and half-truths like you two did

I have so much here but have left to atone what you caused

I want him here tomorrow and not away as he is today

Mother, I am equal but I would rather be free…

Poems for 72 Days, Day 13