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A Disturbing Question

I am my mother’s child,

Forgiveness on my fingertips

Yet

My mouth is covered with blood

From the screams that weren’t even heard

I am my mother’s child,

Confidence is my birth name

Yet

Insecurities cloud my judgments

I am my mother’s child,

I sleep with patience by my side

Yet

Anger is the only language I seem to understand.

Am I really my mother’s child?

By ummisalma

Hiding Behind Poetry

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