My mother was a quiet woman, with dreams that signified the end. She always maintained that she wouldn’t change it, that I made her painful life worthwhile. She said “I don’t want you to think that I don’t love you, or the life that I was blessed to have, but that doesn’t mean I want you crying on the floor the night before your wedding. I don’t want you to bleed every month, and be scared that it means you’re dying. I don’t want you to bleed every month, and be scared because you know it’s time.”
sometimes i think drowning is the sickest way to die
because you know there’s nothing left for you
but your body just keeps on breathing
& i wonder how a mother can look her daughter in the eyes
and think there she is, my baby girl
my very own flesh and blood
without bursting out crying
& i wonder how a son can face his mother
after hitting a girl
and finding out that she screams the same way his mama does
& i do not know how a man can think about hurting you
before deciding not to and becoming a hero
on a cold day i rinse and spit and the water runs red
& i get dressed but do not put on any makeup
& a stranger renames me after all the things he thinks i’m afraid to be