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Mother
I can’t remember
how to trace the sun.
For my fingertips
are iced over cold,
and hard,
and I can’t really seem
to comprehend that melody…
but I only have these hands
and my mother
the moon
who sings her
sympathy to me.
I only know
bittersweet company.
Unconditionally
loving me---
that I forgot to love
myself.
It’s really hard
to distance yourself
from a mother.
It’s like tearing her limbs apart
and spitting on the remains,
but why should I care?
I’m scared all these metaphors
are going to insult mom.
My god, I don’t even believe in god.
I bet she thinks it’s my
other mother playing tricks on me.
How can I really know after all the
other tricks she’s played on me.
She had me picking up a blade.
I’m tired.
I’m tired of living this way.
My psychiatrist once said
I need to take control
but there's no instruction manual in the world
for how to take control of your
controlling mother named Depression.
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