poem: tell me that we are not only what our mothers made of us.

shadow mothers send

their daughters to the mad-house in babbling hordes

and call their rooms in the evernight, in the mid-morn, wondering after the girls they broke and the wings they burned and asking:

do your fingers burn, still, from cradling the ashes

of your own heart? do they taste of smoke / and a wisp of desperation?”

 

and asking:

 

was i the last woman you’ll ever love?”

 

and asking:

 

am i not your birth and beginning / your end, and the afterlife?

am i not the bricks you carry on the shelf of your shoulders / and the daughter you’re afraid to bear?

is it not my madness you drink / and my face you see in the shining gutter-gore?”

 

and we call to them

voices heady and brittle, pushing between the bars on our windows:

 

we are ever-daughters

the childless / the rotten anti-virgins / the Liliths

and you are the gatekeepers

of our future graves.
tell me we are not only what our mothers made of us | t. bennett ; @raggedhearts

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2 thoughts on “poem: tell me that we are not only what our mothers made of us.

  1. MickHugh says:

    Hey, I totally enjoyed what you got here. Your pieces have a hold on the language, it flows, to a rhythm, and actually deals with topics that aren’t sentimental cliches…. anyway, I linked to it on my twitter, cus I found something I actually enjoyed.

    Like

  2. tallyiaboo says:

    Thank you for linking to it and supporting my pieces – I’ve truly liked what I’ve read of yours, too!

    Like

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