Long Sleeves

To hate yourself more and more through the eye of your mother

Told to shackle up in a keep-quiet dungeon,

He has made it hers with the plants and trinkets

Do you love her?

He listens to her house at dinner like insects coming through the cracks

In the morning there is a rash,

So he must love himself

Try and try. There is no bed of rest

The orphan, too, rejects him, so it’s six times on the wrist

Dirty kitchen knives from the dishes he won’t wash

But the boy does not want to wear long sleeves

And no one likes his outfits

With pink, rippled flesh designs he has haunted

And compromised with his own self the suicide

Again and again, until they both went mad

Until the bulk of them snapped like frail and dying trees

Always he was asked: “Why won’t you change?”

While orange bottles rattled in the cupboards upstairs

Red haired woman at wits end, dancing the rage dance

Spitting at the boy because her ulcers are acting up

So the boy knocked holes in concrete walls to sing for anyone

And he saw the truest beauties in the Summer’s heat

Roll back his cuffs and button them down

And everyone knew that he had scars

They have not met; The Man and Mother

The dungeon still dividing them,

It is a mirror of hope

It is their little slice of Earth

Author's Note

Very interested to hear one thing that you didn't like or something you'd change and one thing you liked? That'd be cool!

Reviews

[Avinash]

It sounds like an anthem for a dysfunctional family. Yes toxic environments leave permanent scar on your psyche.

[Sami Khalil]

A very interesting story. Thank you for sharing...:)...........

[Emily]

Lovely poem!
Keep up the great work!