Free Verse Poem // Emote
This is not going to kill me
It’s just energy in motion
E-motion.
Breathe.
Let the energy emote.
Let the e-motions come,
And let them go.
Breathe in.
Express.
Grow.
Change.
Learn.
Repeat.
Breathe out.
Begin again.
This is going to heal me, instead.
Dear Mother,
When I was young, I was taught that there was power in intimate relationships. That my parents had the true authority and I would seek to steal that power in a struggle. I was told I sought power, that I struggled for power. I was told, I was looking to gain power over my parents. I was told, I was looking to be my mothers “judge and jury”. I was told, I would have her die a thousand deaths if I could.
I was told who I was and what I wanted. I was told and told and told. And I once believed this is who I was; I once believed your narrative.
I threw that up, yesterday.
When I got sent away, I was told I was a spiteful child and I needed to take ownership of this factoid. And I did. I truthfully accepted it. I wanted to believe every word out of your mouth. I wanted to believe I was bad -- in order for you to remain good. I truthfully swallowed that bitter pill. I tried owning it, as if it was insightful towards my behaviors at home — as if that was the true reason why I was misbehaving.
I was spiteful.
I was angry.
I was rageful.
"Just because -- that's who I was," You once said.
I had to vomit that pill upwards into my esophagus; from my gut. I had to puke that belief up into the toilet. I had to feel the ache in my body as these beliefs came upwards -- that is not who I am. That is not who I am; that is the pill you forced me to swallow.
I reiterate, that is not who I am.
I did not feel powerful at home when I acted out; I acted out because I felt powerless. I acted out, I misbehaved because I longed for freedom and control over my own life. I longed to write my own story without others reading it; and forcing their hand in the plot twist. I desired to have friends, I longed for deep friendships. I desired someone to hear me, to see me. I craved true empathy. I craved understanding.
I did not want my parents attention — for the sake of their attention. I simply wanted them to see me — for who I really was. I wanted them to see the pain behind my anger. I wanted them to hold me when I sobbed. I wanted them to help me work through these really scary emotions that plagued my soul. I looked up for you to guide me, mother. And you looked lost, and in pain yourself.
The control over my mental progress was hijacked — I could barely think for myself after November 19th, 2007. If I did, I had a deep fear my parents would abandon me again. I suppressed my truth. I had a feeling of deep mistrust against myself — how did I not see this coming? How could I not control my rage? Why did it come pumping out of me as if I was slashed with a knife. Why was I too holding a knife? "What if I could just talk to them and explain?" I once thought. I learned it didn’t matter.
And I thought for sure when I grew up, they’d hear my story and understand. And when that didn’t happen, I thought — for sure when I have a baby, I'll understand. "Maybe I was the one not understanding?" I once thought. Maybe there was something so defective inside of me; that I really deserve this -- that I really deserve not to know my own mother.
I am the bad one.
I am the one with the problem.
You’ve told me not to mind read you — but is there any other way I can talk to you about these deep subjects? Is there any other way you could talk to me as a human — not a defendant? I never wanted to be your judge and jury, mother. I just simply wanted to process my trauma with you. I wanted you to hold me while I cried. I wanted you to see my deep pain. I wanted you to see the bloody knife you held in your hands. I wanted to tell you my story. I get that you didn’t want to tell me yours — maybe you thought it was well hid... under your own pain.
I saw your pain, mother -- that you could not hide.
Maybe you thought my pain shouldn't have impacted me -- this much. That I should have been stronger. That I had nothing to complain about; "why was she so full of anger" you thought. I should have been grateful. And you forced that pill down my mouth, because that was the problem? Me.
I needed to be controlled by a bitter pill.
May I just say how hard that pill was to swallow?
Maybe you thought you could bury your pain forever, just like I should have. Maybe you thought no one could see it; you wore it well. Maybe you thought if it was left alone long enough it too would die. "Just let it go," your voice echoed in my head. Maybe you thought that “talking” never helped anyone, especially your brother. Maybe you thought that it was a secret and that I should concern myself with other things. Maybe you thought, I could handle it alone. Maybe you thought this was not the role of a mother. Maybe you thought the only form of healing came from a pill.
Maybe you didn’t think; thinking was too painful, giving me a pill -- was easy.
Maybe you never wanted to ask "why"; Maybe that was my job.
I was never bad. You were never good. We were humans, expressing our pain -- in our own way. Put down the knife that you used to cut me, and I'll put down mine.
Hope this letter finds you unscathed, I wish no harm on you -- just sight.
You too hold a knife.
Know that, own that.
I must heal, like you said -- with or without you; I must heal.
Your biological daughter,
@laurabell
P.S. You once hid me in the dark and now I will now lock you in my art. It is not personal, it is healing; it is growth.
A stunning poem. From the depths of our hearts come words like trees, blossoming from the dark earth. I'm sorry that you had a rough time with your biological family - I was blessed, though am not without my hangups!
I'm compiling a collection of Hive Poetry themed around the virus, although it doesn't have to be - I imagine it as a collection of poetry of how we heal from trauma of any kind, though we have the virus in the back of our minds at present.
Could I include this in the collection, or is there another one you think more appropriate?
Much love, @riverflows xx
Thank you! And yes, please! I’ll try and write something more according to your theme and post soon? I
of course, drop the link under one of my posts so I'm sure not to miss it! No hurry - it might take me a while to get it together!
I totally understand the creative process from idea to completion — sometimes it has to brew in the mind for awhile.
And, could I use that gorgeous, insanely beautiful picture of you as well? I'm not sure whether I'll even complete the project, but if I do, it'd be cool to figure out a way to sell it and donate the proceeds to some kind of charity. xx It's just a seed in my heart at the moment.
Yes, yes of course. It’s actually one of my favorites!
It's a stunning picture - no wonder it is! Thankyou.