her mother
told her she had piano legs.
at ten that was
hard to overcome no matter
how many men tried.
the meanness was
a yellow breath
coming out of her. she wouldn't
die.
hanging on
to life with sharp nails
at ninety five.
why mothers hate
their daughters is a mystery.
and yet,
beneath it all
there was always hope
that she'd
see things
differently, in time.
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About Me
- Stephen Chute
- west springfield, virginia, United States
- these are all FICTIONAL stories and characters and are in no way representative of any real experiences in my or anyone else's life. any similarities are purely coincidental, except for the dog poems.
1 comment:
I just awoke on the couch at 2am. It must have been 8 or 9 pm last I remember when I drifted off. Alone. Lonely. I'm not sure there's a difference anymore. But, instead of heading to bed, I was drawn to the laptop and found the words that still hurt...that remind me why I'm just not good enough for anyone, not even the one who brought me into this world and left me on my own to discover what love is, criticizing me from her vacated position of mother....with these table legs [upper lip curled]
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