The light of my past will never evade the pupil that saw it all.
How suiting is it that
The universe made black a color to assimilate all light.
Strange is it to see,
No light will ever escape a black hole,
Because my eyes will never be yours.
You will not see me as I perceive you.
See the light that enters my black pupil is infinite and unique, unchanging
So isn’t it suiting,
that the light I see crafting my world will never escape back out of my pupil,
but it is treasured in memories, it’s black, the color of the shadows that make up our past,
that forge who we are in the light
Where is it do you believe, black holes store all their light.
As above and so below
We are humble reflections of the universe.
Every black hole echoing a pupil,
having seen its own story of creation.
The stories they could tell if given a chance to speak.
But wait.
Isn’t that just what I am.
Is there not a universe of memories stored behind my eyes
But I cannot look someone in theirs without getting shy
Yes
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul
And I’m sorry if I’m distance but
I am not sure if I’m ready to share my black hole.
Because if all that light could escape
Well, the way you looked at me would change
So isn’t it suiting
That black absorbs all our stories
And hides them just the same
Isn’t it suiting that all the light we see is sourced from a sun
With all the potential to be a black hole
If only the weight became too much to bare
Isn’t it suiting that the light you emit
Is caught in someone else’s eye, never for you to see.
Black are the memories of light days in my child hood
Because if I could remember them all
Pools would surround my pupils of witness
Why is it that no one hears the screams
My tears make against the pavement
So I am sorry I cannot look you in the eye
But if you saw all I saw you would see
I am a dead woman walking
I’m sorry for the guilt I feel
If I were to bare my soul to you because
You are not Atlas
I do not expect you to carry my sky of pain
I love you too much to let you carry all the burdens I am
And I could not stand to see
My weight turned your sun into
Another black hole because
This world needs more suns
So I sit in these black rooms yet
Truthfully they are filled with light
Unknown to you
Transmuted through me
For all I am is made of stars
Waiting for a chance to collapse again
And I am hoping to make peace
With all these pupils have seen
About the Creator
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Mother to a
There are few people I would wish my relationship with my mother on. She is a strong, courageous, loud, wild, toxic, addictive, impulsive, beautiful, harmful woman. For as long as I can remember, my mom’s heart was hidden behind spirits.Not “Spirits”. A bottle. As she slipped into the dark mental conscious of drunk, she would tell her woeful stories of her life. I would hear her cry at night through the wall. She would scream all the venom of her life into night’s air. My childhood, what I have not blocked out, was a heartstricken one. My mother was often in two minds. She would glow in the day with laugher and prosperous smile. When she had a job, it was often factory work. Boot straps and sweat were nothing to this woman. By night, my mom faded to a tortured soul. My father, before he was absent, was an addict of his own that abused her in unspeakable ways. My mother was a strong woman who fought back. I was taught what not to do in so many ways from her. I learned the signs of toxicity. She lived them so I didn’t have to. Yet, so many toxic injections into my heart were out there through her own needle. I also learned to work at a young age because life wasn’t going to be given to me. Needs were not given freely, and my next meal was earned since I could pick up a broom. By witness, I saw what it meant when you didn’t learn to walk away from a situation that didn’t serve you well. The mental, emotional, and spiritual breakage that occur day by day in negative and harmful environments or people is unparalleled. Worst of all, the most unforgivable violence is that in which we do to ourselves. I was given the freedom to become my own person because there were no bounds in my life. To call myself a rebellious free spirit is an understatement. My mother, above all, taught me that those who are suppose to nurture and love you are sometimes the ones who sink you down the farthest. One moment, she would be the most open ear and softest shoulder, but when I experienced the other side of her, she would use all the words, feelings, and thoughts I had confided in her against me. You cannot truly be wounded by someone you do not love. So, I love, nurture, and honor myself. Truly, forgiveness will always be a personal journey that you have to recognize you deserve, even if the person you are forgiving has done nothing to deserve it. If I were to let all of the painful experiences with my mother weigh on my heart, I would have broken a long time ago. Waiting for someone else to validate your beautiful soul is futile and empty because there is no higher love than the one you have for yourself. For this, I get to be the parent for my daughter that I needed my mother to be. When she speaks of her feelings, I will confront them with validation. When she needs an ear, those thoughts will remain with me alone. I was taught to be a mother, not only because I raised myself and healed my inner child, but because I saw everything I didn’t want to be. All that could possibly be left is what I needed to be for my child. My mother taught me many lessons, though not in the traditional sense. She put me through trials when no crime was committed. My mom taught me how to be a mom.
By Logan Gillaspie5 years ago in Psyche
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