MAMA?

She called onto her mother like the little girl she thought she was

And her mother hissed like she'd always done;

She took steps closer and kept calling on to her mom.

"Ma", again and again she called out

She was 16; not a little girl

But to her dearest mother she was never a little girl:

Not even back then.

(Her mother always hissed when called by her

Even when she was a little girl

So with her mother still hissing when she calls, she still feels like a little girl)

She always had a way to keep dead things alive

Like the bond between her and her mother

One that was never born

A bond that was never there

Yet seemingly alive:

You'll see her calling her mother

And her mother hissing at her calls

But with her smile...

You'd think her mother was just having a bad day.

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"BOLA"

My fury was one that was always ignored: like the fire you'd see in a bonfire- it was never thought of as a hazard.

My fury came from the turbulent emotions I had within and blackened due to stress. Stress came from everywhere- anything could cause it, so how could there possibly be a cure?

"BOLA!"

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Wan bi" ("Come here")

My ears were pierced the vibrations made from a person I barely loved and I dragged myself downstairs, haggard and tired, not that they'd ever noticed. They were always blind to it all.

Arrived and as I stood facing my mother, my senses dulled: that was my body's way of protecting me: an adaptation I'd developed.

"Ma," I spoke and my mom heard.

She replied with a look. My mom's default and primary look for me was a dead stare, and her secondary look was a side eye. Both with disdain and a disapproving glance. Today, it was the standard. And my response should've been the standard. The usual. But the cord broke and I choked. So I screamed for help. And I was left with ire.

I've got a force within me that keeps me afloat, not rising. An upward force known as buoyancy. My buoyant force increases and I became more alive and my element shines more. But despite the force I still drown in these waters. As my element shine, my vibration changes, and I am labelled as arrogant. A word that pierces my bones. Stones and sticks did not break my bones, if I must remind you. And they're all pushing me down to taste the water because they believe I won't be here forever- that these waters is not home. That I must fully experience the waters of an ocean I cannot swim, so that I can tell the story after I draw myself out. An ocean I cannot swim in..., haven't I drowned? And there is no victory for those who have drowned, except those who live to see past it. Death holds no praise, yet the path closest to it is the most championed.

I rely on my soul's buoyancy to keep me alive, for despite the fact I am snared by an anchor that blends with the water and my flesh has rotten, my soul drags on and I'm left to carry an aching heart that weighs. All of which none can ever see. All of which none will ever hear. All of which surely will be ignored.

But mother, mother, when will you see? Your little girl is floating with the tides: lifeless and unaware of all the shackles on her, that you hold the key of.