Mother, Therapist

As I became a woman I was streetwise at six

Men drugged me I knew where to hide

And raped me I knew when not to fight

And told me I was good I held my head up as I bled

I hid my brother under the bed If I was drinking

I heard my mother screaming More than a child should

I couldn’t keep her safe It was because I needed help

But I kept him safe They kicked me out

I know he wants to hurt me I know I should not be here

So I never leave, not alone I am alone, I am unwanted

I hear him through the walls I see nothing ahead

No one listens hard enough Except for signs of my abomination

I am no one, paid to be, trained to be

No one. And someone who counts.

These are not my stories.

Let me hold them for you.

Listen. I will emphasise the pieces you missed.

And, bowed, I will miss the pieces of these

Which are not my stories

But make mine whole

And carve out how I open from being

To being someone.

Just let me hold your hair At work today something happened

In my fisted fingers And I feel angry as a result

Let me feel your heartbeat Or small. Proud. Uncertain.

Against myself Let me open my heart.

Do you know anybody who can help? I tell you my obsession

(Can you help me?) Because I love you

I hurt so much Witness me.

(You can make it right.) I need to know you won't look away

My daughter, the doctor, wants I have made a world for you

Too much from me Out of grass clippings

She is a mother herself now Out of dolls

I need her to need me less Out of words.