Chocolate Drop

a poem, i want to love her, but do i know how?

Well it’s time to raise this little girl up.

I don’t know where to start but the truth.

I’d have to disgrace those Hershey eyes.

Knit armour around those puffy round cheeks.

She needs armor, it’s only fair.

Boney pale fists, state-issued beds, concrete all day in flat holey soles, that’s the truth.

They will love and hate you all the same,

Men don’t like when you’re sane. Wearing those round cheeks comes at a price. Will you pay it?

I’ll need to be firm.

Black, blue, red, chalk to shade you who you are, depending on what they need.

I’d teach her how to grind her teeth, side to side, leave a little space.

Bite her cheeks, in the back, and no one can tell.

Grin while bearing it, curl your lips so it looks real.

I used to believe I’d be so much better mothering me, but the longer I hurt the more understanding I meet.

I would look down on a growing girl and spill her innocence. Drag red stains along the sheets, like sacchrine red wine on a bedside table.

I’d dismiss her like morning afters (possible fruit flies).

I look back at me and dim her light, she must survive.

That’s how we’re taught to raise a child, to lower them.

Chocolate Drop (mixed media - vintage fabric and buttons, recovered lace, thermal paper)