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Lost my mother

At the hands of death.

A childhood of struggle

From breath to breath.

A void too sudden

Without warning or shame.

The attempt unbearable

To call out her name.

Crawled into spaces

Where the corner was black.

Frightening the elders

That I’d never come back. 

Childhood to adolescence 

Produced questions galore.

Kept me partnered with pain.

Kept me balled on the floor.

 

At a lost for words,

Tears were my voice.

Trapped within my head

Every diary was moist.

The void was unbearable.

My voice always strained.

At the mention or thought

Of her precious name.

Once paper was found,

And there was no need to speak,

A break from choking

Allowed my hand to flow free.

I talked to it and it comforted me.

Filled me with nostalgic memories.

Things I never thought to share,

Tearing down those walls, my heart it bared.

 

Straight lines. Crisp paper.

Nowhere in the world is safer.

I lost my mother and almost my soul,

But with a pencil in hand, my shards became whole.

Straight lines. Crisp paper.

Nowhere in the world is safer.

No judgment. No fall.

My softest, consolation doll.

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