There are times when I am given a look of disappointment from my mother

as if I was the wrong fetus that was in her womb for nine months.

I sit and I wait. I do everything possible to please a woman who sees me as- a regret?

I am behind a wall that infringes me from touching and feeling an unwanted love

from who I call mother, and who calls me- useless.

I will now become useless and her- she will become mother,

to me in anyway possible because my anemic heart and my blinded eyes are willing to forgive.

I’ve never felt the touch of a woman who supposedly gave me life. On mother’s day I cry,

I cry because her anger rips at my lungs, taking all the oxygen in the air, leaving me gasping, wide eyed, and numb.

Her not wanting to love me is the knife that pierces through my dark skin,

leaving me bleeding- bleeding black blood.

Who am I to complain as her tongue elongates into a poisonous snake slowly biting into my neck-

her mouth hissing words that become bullets firing into me-

her eyes, oh her eyes, glare, taunt, killing me softly.

Man was the first to touch me, and I told her.

She sat and she waited. Man walked into the home, ready for more-

the tears slowly escaped-

mother’s lips zipped tightly unable to protect me.

Mother unable to stare, walks away.

I become useless to her, and to me she becomes mother

because I spent nine months in her womb with the unwanted love that I craved for.

She becomes mother because no matter what happens,

she is the controller of my heart.

She becomes mother because I owe her for that regret-

I owe her the fetus that she had always craved for.