My Ma misses the moments when 

My intelligence was 14 at 10 years old

Just enough to read between lines 

And sign on the dotted ones for an absent party

When the world was too loud,

Lies being my mode of communication

My words more attractive than my truth

She found my heart

On the tip of my tongue,

But it wasn’t safe

Sharp enough to Lacerate 

The tapes imprinted with

My smile before it felt blinded by the light 

Rather than blessed

“Fix your broken mouth,” She said

For my health is in danger

Lungs and bones fighting to keep up with

The remarks I spew 

by which my safety was compromised

And because her heart is 25 at 40 

She blames herself

Ma, why do you hurt yourself?

Why hand me the hammer 

That broke your lower back

Then tear your hair from your scalp,

Saying that you wish you raised me better

And she lies! The guillotine’s blade above her

Engraved with the words 

“Don’t worry about me”

Ma, How do I ignore the blood on your cardigan

When I wear it?

I tell her, 

Why do you thank your executioner, Ma?

Your ears only listen to cries and accusations

Then close back up in disgust! When I try

To explain my brain

My mind

I apologize! For holding your head

In my hands 

When I am the zip tie that restricts you 

To the kitchen counter 

I hold the knife for the first time

You beg your God for new parts 

That “fit” me

When heaven doesn’t offer same day shipping

Please, Ma!

Just sow my soul in the hole

You dug on your own

For yourself

Apprehend the crime, not the felon

For it was born without its consent

And praise yourself

For enduring a torture you prayed for