mother

My mother lived a childhood
she could've done without
then she passed it on to me
unconsciously
the depths and the bends
and the anxiety

Her illness seems my own
like Sisyphus and his stone
carrying the weight
a sentence, alone

How can you hate someone who has suffered?
How can you live fully if you don't?
My life is stuck in my throat
waiting to to be digested, afloat

I always wanted her to be strong
but I saw tears and healthcare
was left unaware
grew weak
absorbed by our fear
unable to speak

Now here
I push the rock
search for meaning in the ticking clock
nurse my pains
looking for strength
hiding emotions in hidden drains

The courage to say, "fuck you, mum!
look what your parents have gone and done!"
way back when
you were small
knowing no better
so fucking cruel

But these very thoughts
are an excuse for me -
telling the truth,
to shout and wail
to call you every name under the sun
what fun!
A dream I have quite frequently
under the covers, quite cowardly

I wake separated, anew
only to realise I am still very much
part of you

In your presence I want to run
leaping and bounding towards the setting sun
alas the answer is remaining there
but the feelings are almost
impossible to bear

Instead I keep away
failing to miss you in any way
ironically I feel
I have nothing to say

But when you are gone
I'll miss you and want to be there
no longer unwilling to share
in part I write these words to help me with that
so that all of you strangers can see
as proof of some attempt
to set us free.