When I was four
My mom would squeeze me into a suffocating dress
With ruffles that would make me itch
Like pins and needles jabbing from every stitch
Until I ripped it off without a sigh
While a tear rolled down my eye
When I was seven
My mom would paint my nails
Colors of a blooming flower
And for that hour
She would restrain my small hand
Becoming as rough as the sand
Until it became dislocated limb
One I could never put back in
When I was nine
My mom would make me play with Daisy
She would give me a death stare and act crazy
Since I took a while to pick up the Barbie just like Daisy
And so I hid
On the field with the guys
It felt right with only them by my side
When I was fourteen
My mom would tease me
About my best friend
Who would never leave me
More alike than any two
But we were torn apart by the unspoken truth
That he liked her and I liked her too
When I was sixteen
My mom would slap me
Whenever she caught me staring
She was just so beautiful
It was all so overbearing
She would work at the cash register
From five to eight
Which my Mom would truly hate
When I was seventeen
I had my first kiss
It was happy and all
Until I slit my wrist
(My mom saw us kissing
She screamed and she yelled
Shoving me into the house
Where it all went down
She got out her bible
And made me pray
To never tell anybody about this day
And so I told myself
I could no longer stay.)
9 comments
Autobiographical?
yes
Was?* As in no longer? I would assume you’re still gay…unless the gay conversion camps bible-thumpers prayed for actually works.
Anyway, cool poem. Sorry the world hates gays. It’s funny how in today’s environment, gays are bad, but Nazi’s are okay…crazy.
No I still am but she makes me feel like I need to leave it all in the past or leave this earth… but thank you.
You’re a great writer. I’m sorry that things were bad with your mom. Just keeping being you.
No I still am but she makes me feel like I need to leave it all in the past or leave this earth… but thank you.
Sorry elliecats that comment ^ was meant for eternal darkness. But thank you so much I’ve been trying to use poetry as a way of expression instead of other things… Thank you for the support.
I found that really lovely, and all too relatable. My mother had a similar reaction when I was young and tried to come out to a few of our relatives. She forced me to either telephone them back and say I was lying, or else I could be homeless. I chose the latter. That was in 1989.
Now she sees what a mistake that was. Still, it cannot be undone. I’d venture to guess that half of the people who commit suicide or have it constantly in their thoughts, do so because of the way other people don’t accept them as they are. Just a thought.
i know i’m a little late on making this comment but i like this. I have similar experiences and it hurts a lot and it always hurts knowing your parents don’t like you because you are you. But i have learned to surround myself with friends ad make my own family and slowly leave mine behind for a better one