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Mother
He hates you.
You held so tight on his wrists,
He still feels the ache,
He still sees the bruises.
He hates you.
You don’t see him,
You look through him,
He wishes your hand would phase through his body too.
He hates you.
He hates your frustratingly blank stare,
Shaky breath and bouncing leg,
Pretending you can’t hear him.
Your son is crying,
I know you can hear me.
He’s screaming,
Coughing up blood as he tears his throat with pure rage.
You can’t meet his eye
A coward,
A fucking coward.
He hates you.
He wishes he could make you feel the same,
Could give you even just a fraction of what you’ve made him feel.
Can he hurt?
Just once,
can he feel pain like you?
Can he be deserving of a hug,
Can he let himself be held?
He hates hate you.
..
Most of all,
He hates that even though he’s angry,
Even though he’s bruised and burned and scarred,
If you offered to hold him,
I don’t think I could say no.
Mother..
Is that what it’s called?
Published 10th May 2024
Author's Note
When you’ve finally become old enough that fear turns to rage.
This can be read for either a mother or a father, but I wrote it with mother in mind, so yeah.
This can be read for either a mother or a father, but I wrote it with mother in mind, so yeah.
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