If Flowers Could Bloom

Father,

does the word selfishness suffice

for the ego you harbor,

all in effort to blame my mother,

who has stripped the bones on her back to replenish

her children who have cried to the walls at night -

children who you in turn torture when you strike

your words at her.

And loyalty,

is an exclusive word designed for her,

who never made us question that our love,

could be more than what she was capable of giving -

boring depressions in our hearts when spoken beside

the ruinous ones that you've used;

bitterness that won't leave my ears.

What have your children done,

besides love their mother,

that made you take back loved ones,

I suppose you considered them borrowed.

If only you could comprehend

that I am tied to the woman who nurtured me

when I was sick; who weaved out

the venom you plagued me with

all by her bare hands.

When you hurt her heart you beat mine -

for she has the resillience of the Amazons,

and I had to fake mine in aims to be brave like her.

Yet you have the insolence,

to tilt your head at me

like I'm still in the third grade and ask, "what's wrong?"

Don't you realize that the women in our lives

deserve the flowers that

grow inside our chests?But father, why haven't any grown in yours,

after years of us planting seeds?

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