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Betrayal: Lucia, Age 37 MAG
Mother never told me I wouldn't have a house.
I had always expected to have someplace,
not anywhere in particular,
with some cherry trees in the backyard.
But pavement is not very conducive
to the growth of trees, I guess.
I'll make this STOP sign my tree and make everyone smell its blossoms,
in my backyard, on the corner.
And Mother never told me that I was invisible.
Like a black cat in a dark cavern,
only my eyes are occasionally glimpsed.
They light up the night,
and scare away those who see my rage.
They run quickly away,
then they go inside and forget.
And Mother never told me there existed a hunger like
vultures clawing the inside of your skin.
Sometimes they go away,
too many times they feast.
If a few pieces collect in my cup.
I can indulge in the pleasure that is usually denied to me
(Don't I have the right to eat three meals a day?)
Often I am indignantly stared at by the cup's lonely bottom.
Mother never told me it was possible to feel this tired -
like the slightest breeze could snuff out my tender soul.
After all these years of fighting and trying to escape,
of wishing to be brand-new as a clean coloring book, I am giving in.
What else can I do in a life of desolation and despair?
I rest here, letting the elements absorb me in my stillness,
dust collecting on my skin, withering away to nothingness.
I spit on my Mother and my country -
why didn't they tell me?