The World Is Too Full to Talk About
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C'est tellement mystérieux, le pays des larmes<br />
This morning I woke up detached.<br />
I, rummaging inside my body, had no relation <strong>to</strong> the being I was<br />
perceived and expected <strong>to</strong> be.<br />
I washed my face and walked straight <strong>to</strong> the living room where my<br />
mother, crouched and miserable, sat with my sisters<br />
when we had a moment <strong>to</strong> our selves she said <strong>to</strong> me:<br />
"when you went away last night, all night long I thought of going in<strong>to</strong><br />
your room and looking through your things, finally I couldn't handle<br />
my letting it go like that. I mean what kind of mother would I be? i<br />
walked in<strong>to</strong> your room and you were sleeping, quietly squeezing the<br />
pillow. your face puffed the way it use <strong>to</strong> when you were five years old<br />
and slept next <strong>to</strong> me. I felt terrible at the way things unravel, walked<br />
out of the room and cried instantly"<br />
it's such a mysterious place, the country of tears<br />
I handled things with a frightening absence<br />
at an instant I almost visited the country <strong>to</strong>o but it did not feel worth<br />
the trouble<br />
I knew that however I was painted before in my mother's blurry mind's<br />
eye I am not painted as such anymore.<br />
it is painful <strong>to</strong> see someone hate themselves for the way you simply<br />
are.<br />
* * * * * * * * * * *<br />
My mother is a world of it’s own<br />
Walking narratives, I project the chaos of my inner civil war<br />
Un<strong>to</strong> her flesh<br />
I write poems about her because I cannot speak <strong>to</strong> her<br />
Because I always cut through her inadvertently<br />
Or out of necessity<br />
And she sits quietly and waits for the blood <strong>to</strong> clot and dry<br />
I have heard people say your mother never s<strong>to</strong>ps loving you<br />
But a mother is an organic being which tires and sleeps<br />
Aches and dies<br />
I carry my mother inside my self<br />
Ever since I was in elementary school, alone at lunch breaks<br />
Crying at the thought of my self forcefully expelled from our home<br />
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