Mother

she has the wrath of a god but the mind of a human the steel grip of an eagle, but she’s painfully weak i shake like a leaf since whatever she’s doing makes me scared to the bone, i can’t even speak whenever she screams, the silence that follows deafens me more than her voice don’t prick your finger, thread in a needle none of us are here by choice her stare burns my skin; it’s shabby and marred the scars on my knees are surgically placed i’ll keep it together my face stays unscarred but i look like my father; she says it’s a waste