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i don’t title my emotions
By Candy Cain
mother was a martyr
masking mal-intent in messes
and misconstruing meanings
and leaving us in debted.
of course it’s her heroics that were the main attraction
and not the emotional molotovs obviously thrown across the hall that were
her main reactions,
chaining us to channels that churn us to our stomachs
with no way to change the static.
yes, maybe that’s it.
maybe the murder of my mental health is worth more than an
“aint it tragic with the way it happened”
from her mouth that made us gaslit.
from the glaring flaws in her philosophy,
we failed to define what little truths we would find flirting in her circular
logic.
and with no way to defy the deafening lies that made the effort to try
nothing less than a lie,
i broke my room to splinters in midwinter, pinned her fast in the stomach,
and stumbled out into the cinders of snow with a bag of vacuous belongings
to figure my own path to plummet.
i’m more than glad i done it.
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Author's Note:
venting. had big writers block for awhile. couldn’t be creative since the year began, this is the first. do whatever you want with it.Comments on "i don’t title my emotions"
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On Thursday, April 1, 2021, JustAnEarlyBird
(39)
wrote:
It's amazing how those same parents that torment us, gaslight us, make us feel crazy and like the problem, are always the ones quick to react explosively over nothing. To blame and play the victim, then corner us and attack us over the way our eyes hit theirs. I'm glad you made your way away from that mess. Great read. I hope the venting helped sort through the rubble.
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