top of page

a letter to my mother (I)

dear ma,

when you hold my face

with a look of dismay,

in your hands and give it a

“not pretty enough” brand,

it hurts.


it hurts like ingesting poison:

like every nerve,

every capillary,

every pipe,

every bronchi inside of me

is on fire,

is sizzling.


sticks and stones

don’t break my bones ma,

it’s your words that

kill me through.


Recent Posts

See All

a drop of red

why is it that the red he pours on the battlefield becomes the red of fearlessness and the red of bravery? why is it that the red you gift a lover becomes the red of love and the red of devotion? why

have you lost weight recently?

i want to be invincible. like every average teenager i want to be ‘acceptable’, i want to be shrinkable and irresistible. i want to be slim, with an hour-glass body, with, my face drowned in cosmetics

Comments


bottom of page