forgive me, for i do not love a place

the smell of lemon and honeysuckle

is overbearing in this home

built from dark woods

and fresh fire, soft light.


a cat skitters along the dark

floor (marbled? tiled? i’m unsure).


i ache and my bones do too.

desperate to hear wicked

laughter of a witch,



the place is that of a mother

who loves any (unloved)

motherless children

as she lets them rest

their head on a table made for two

that sits five instead.


i cannot help but caress the wood

top with my blue, swelling hands.


i regret loving this space

but not the love i feel for those

who reside in it. that’s magic to me.

magic, is finally being guilt free

for being alive and loving

without you.


an explosion sets off in the room

hidden behind the stairs. reckless

laughter bubbles from a boy

i’ll never be able to love

though i often wish i had (could).


i cannot stop myself from crying

because tonight, i do not feel

like dying.


this place is not a place but

a manifestation of forbidden love.

to want a mother that isn’t your own

and finally finding one,


then losing her just the same.


i want to scream

without being told to stop.

i want to be able to forgive myself

when you never could.


etch this into my grave,

for my mother and i,

we’re dying.



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