How She Felt

A free-verse poem, best understood as a mother looking at her daughter.

How She Felt

Silence. (She knows.)
My heart pounds.
It fills my ears, my head, my thoughts,
With nothing but the sound of my guilt,
Coursing virulently through my veins. (I do feel guilty, I do.)

Opacity. (How can she know?)
Intrusive, horrid.
But every time I blink away the dimness,
Caustic and stinging,
My eyes bleed, along with my soul. (Fake.)

Bitterness. (She really knows?)
Acrimonious, sharp.
It gushes from your every pore,
Leaking like water through the air,
And rising, like bile, in the back of my throat. (Does she believe any of this?)

Disdain. (Who told her?)
Crystalline, incontrovertible.
It pierces through my senses,
Leaving me gasping for air,
Under your relentless, hate-inundated gaze. (Can she tell I'm acting?)

Vacuity. (She's too young to figure it out... right?)
Sour, heart wrenching.
You move away when I reach out,
Amplifying the distantance between us,
Hearts, souls and bodies. (Pain. Look pained.)

Frigidness. (How long has she known?)
Shattering, violent.
It pours from your glare,
Mocking my attempt at emotion,
Scorning my penitence for years gone by. (And sloppy lies.)

Pain. (Not mine.)
Carnassial, stabbing.
It slices through my defenses,
Cutting down and resistance I had built,
My vulnerability there for you to pounce on. (Do I look hurt enough to convince her?)

(I breathe in.)
(You breathe out.)
You make no move, though I see your muscles tense, ready for battle.

(I know.)
(You know.)
With three words ("I caught you") you can rip my spirit, my very being apart.

(I breathe out.)
(You breathe in.)
Your mouth opens, reavealing crooked teeth, reminding me that you are only eight years old.

(I sob.)
(You blink.)
"Do you know what you are doing to me, my love?"

(I blink.)
(You breathe out.)
How can one so young be so cruel, so distant?

(I breathe in.)
(You shake your head.)
Your lips, pink and full, shape the words that I thought I would never hear.
"You lied to me. I hate you."

I should die (but I don't),
My heart should shrivel (but it doesn't),
My blood should dry to dust in my veins (but it doesn't),
I should know that without you there is no reason to go on (but I don't),
I should know that if I let you, my daughter, walk out that door you will never return.

Instead all I know is that I have been discovered.
(You know my every loving thought, touch, word was fake.)

Instead, all I know is that you have seen what is truly important,
And recognized that I am not what I seemed,
Not what you need. (A mother who cares.)

(I know.)
No apology will come.

(You blink.)
A tear rolls free.

(You breathe out.)
A sob breaks.

(You turn.)
The door shuts behind you.

(I turn.)
There are more important things to attend to. (My first real thought.)

Author's Note

This poem is probably the most emotional one I have ever written, but I tried to keep it clinical, because it's written from someone's else's point of view, and I imagined that there was no emotion in what that person was thinking. I'd especially like to know if that was accomplished.
Photo: "Being Able to look at Yourself in the Mirror without Feeling Hatred" by SquallKittyHeart @ www.bestuff.com