Page 79 of Poison Aches
My throat burns as I re-read Warsan Shire’s groundbreaking poem. To be honest, unlike other literary or medical journals that I consume on a daily basis, I can recite this poem word for word while half conscious.
I think I can even do it at the edge of death…after all, we tend to remember the things we most identify with. And this poem manages to chew me out on every front.
Almost all the songs, books, and art out there are about love. As for me, I find myself gravitating to the ones that bleed of sad, pathetic loneliness.
Not because this is what I want, but because most days, I don’t have the language to describe the astringent feeling that looms over me when I wake up, throughout the day, and when I attempt to sleep.
If they wanted you, wouldn’t they have chosen you?
This line hits even harder because I know the answer to that.
In fact, most times, we do know the answers to the emotional turmoil we face.
But sometimes knowing is one thing, understanding is another… but accepting it? Well, let’s just say I’m not there at all.
And because I can’t fucking let it go, I’m now in some deep shit that will most likely end up with me behind bars for the rest of my life.
Why did I even do it? It was the most stupid thing ever and now?—
“Ivy?!”
The loud voice reaches my ears.
Startled, I look up in a rush only to see Astraea watching me with concern in her eyes.
I hate that look. The ‘she’s such a sad soul so we must be careful’, look.
“Huh?” I force a smile.
“You good?” she asks softly. “I’ve been calling your name for a minute now.”
She has?
I laugh awkwardly. “Yeah, yeah, I was just…”
Trying to figure out how it must feel to be wanted.
To not be abandoned.
To have a mother at the very least…
To not have to overcompensate for wanting to live a good life.
Jesus, I’m a mess.
“I was just thinking that you’re a great mother,” I finally say with a forced smile.
It’s not a lie either. Astraea is a wonderful mother.
She smiles and then shakes her head. “It’s only been about fifteen months. I’m still on trial.”
Fifteen months as compared to being abandoned at birth… I’d take those months any day.
If my mother had wanted me, would she have loved me the way I see Astraea loving her son?
“A self-imposed trial, that’s for sure,” I tease. “You’re doing great!”
“Is that what you were thinking about so deeply?” she asks with a small, knowing smile.
