mother

Her words live inside of me. Growing. The way poison uninvitedly makes a home in your body. Devouring from the inside out.

The truth is I let her do it. I let her ruin me. I think the two of us unknowingly enjoy it. Torture and be tortured. I know my screams of frustration don’t make her happy. She’d much rather I suffer in silence from the wounds she inflicted on me.

Sometimes I do go silent. When others decide to love me. Befriend me. Get close to me. I run back to her because the comfort of knowing what I will get when I am with her instead of the uncertainty with others keeps me stuck. Trapped.

Perhaps there is a part of me that secretly enjoys words that cut through me and the violent hands. Perhaps there is a part of me that fears there may be something worse outside of this. 

Maybe there is something better, but for now I’ll endure this. I’ll endure her. I’ll cry into my pillow and allow my bed to form an imprint of my body coiled. As I once was in her womb.