Soft and warm like a mother's touch but bounded with a limit.
Foreign with a bit of tinge of bitterness.
Always tended to stay in her own world while the children played tag you're it.
Smile but never really realized what made her childhood life feel like a blur.
Was it because of the constant teasing that made her brain dead to all the noises, or was it because she kept silent while mumbling noises that sounded like a soft tune.
A soft tune that matches to nothing else but the beeping noise of a heart.
Counting the fingers she has until boredom struck her and forced herself to speak.
Speak up for yourself.
But how?
How do you speak up for yourself when you don't understand what's your problem to begin with.
Is it my fault that the first words I said was not the situation at the moment?
Is it my fault that I can't defend myself for my mother who's god knows why she lays in the bed waiting for the results?
Going to the hospital to be seated in the lobby, reading what I can on the magazines.
Babbling about nothing but fearing nothing.
Love or hate, I couldn't feel it.
Waiting till the last hours, holding a hand in a grimace.
I love you, mom.
I am sorry I couldn't defend you when you were defenseless.
YOU ARE READING
Out Of Order
PoetryPerturbed. Anxiety awaits those who can't distinguish between actions or emotions, therefore never implying what she thought was important. Animosity. Apart from her balancing on the tight rope, resentment tipped her over and down she goes. Deep int...
