I melt like goo at your feet when it gets too hot inside my skin, Mother.
Much like a house made of wax, I soften under your furnace palms,
I stick underneath your temple soles as my candle walls come undone,
An offering to the only deity that had the courage
To carry my soul into its own;
An exchange for some tranquility in a battle-ridden home, for I've been finding
Rubble stuck in-between
My hair for years now,
I told you, Mama, It hurts when I breathe, Awaiting for your solace arms
To hug the blue rivers out of me; I told you, Mama,
It hurts when i breathe,
But as i lay my weary eyes onto your every gasping breath
Much like my own,
I try to imitate the way you have moved your chest up and down
For what seems like eons now,




A puppeteers hands replace your own,
As you teach me the art of impersonation,
And how to turn my lungs into
Two hot air balloons,

And I sometimes sit
Late at night
Gazing out at a
Moon that came
Before us,
Wondering what will happen
If i ever decide to poke
two
or three
little holes
into my chest



Will all the air
Come swirling out;
Like the ground underneath
Your feet
The day I
Was born,

Maybe i'll tumble,
Like your love
Over the years
Or maybe I'll
Meet you in a place,
With a different heart
And stronger lungs,

Maybe then i'd have
The courage to forgive you