Deconstruction

How do you kill words?

All we can do is replace. Take back. Try to make one forget what was uttered.

How can you erase words in one's memory?

I want it gone. I want it to go away. I want to destroy it. Dismantle it. Tear it to letters.

So it cannot form anymore. So it can no longer muster itself. To procure minds, lacerate hearts, kill thy self.

Sorrowful Mysteries

Mother, I cannot pray any longer. Not with you. I now become tired, easily. The prayer is the same. The words are the same. Your words are the same. There are more fun things to do. More than to just sit and wait. For false hopes, failed promises.

Mother, I am not your life. Stop lying. You have your own. The umbilical cord was cut. A long time ago. We will go on our separate ways. Soon. I have my own heartbeat.

My breasts have become bigger. My glands will have milk. My lips will be kissed. My hair will be stroked. Someone else, mother, not you. Not anymore. Always is a word to change. I will change it. I will change.

Do not cook anymore. The food you serve has become stale. My taste buds ventured to the peculiar. Your effort of delicacy no longer excites my nostrils.

Enough, mother. Stop seizing me with these haunting echoes. Let go. Let go of woes. Let go of me.

I need your laughter, mother. That is your best farewell gift. I am your burden. It is time. I need to pain. I need to learn your sorrow. Your death is my birth.

Queen of Sorrow

I've never seen my mother happy. Since my birth, the deadly silence has captured her, coaxed her to sleep with sorrow.

Tonight, the moon, again, witnessed my mother's sadness. Amidst my bursts of laughter. Even with my smack of temper. Her patience is my territory.

I don't hate my mother. I hate her loneliness. I hate it when she cries every time I bite her nipples. She could have squeezed and drowned me. In milk. To my expectant face.

I hate her when she threatens me with father. I always resort to my childish outbursts. She should have hurled hurtful phrases instead.

There is nothing but loneliness in her face: lined with wrinkles, pallid because of sleeplessness, withered by muteness.

Mother, it is okay to flinch. You can always hurt me. You can always hate me. Get even. Don't you know I hate your lie that I am and will never be a mistake?

To The Blabbermouth

Try opening your mouth. Let me examine the terror of your throat. Will you unleash the long-kept vile? I need to know if I've fed you anything. Anything to be spewed out.

Do not avoid. Succumb this once. I've been living in massive fear. I always cringe at your sigh. I quail at each gulp. I choke by your choke. I shrink at your blow.

Become desensitized. Just be. It is my plead.

For awhile. All I want is your perfunctory pause.

Patience

I am terrified by this haunting holocaust. The clock strikes every nerve, every pain. You will never be where I want you to be. Never the distance. Never existent.

I am sick as an old song, desperate to be played. Many times. Golden times.

But now is waiting.

A gasp. Prolonged hiccup. Stretched silence.

I pull and stretch for that awaited snap.

And you tell me, the world is elastic?

Restore

Make me restless. Occupy my body. Ask me to bite. Command me to run.
I cannot have space. I hate lulls and blanks.
Not in this time. Not with this heart.

Initial Revenge

The water from the faucet runs too fast. I forgot to turn it off. The pail brims with unneeded water. My body needs more.

The water overflowed and went down the drain. My memory of you is still contained. It doesn't go. It doesn't inch towards the rim, towards the forgotten, drowning in the unknown.

I am distressed at the wasted water. Just like when you would tell me to stay put and act my age. I wanted to flow. I wanted to pour everything. To you. We could fill up this dry world.

But you corked the bottle.

You have always closed the valve. When the pail is full, you become the handle. Closed. Tight. Secured. Unyielding. Not a single drop escapes. Nothing stealthily falls. That is why I always thirst. I crave the stream. I become a growing desert. Something is lacking. The water is not enough. Always. You are not enough.