my mother’s soft hands braiding stories into my hair
i drink the rain in fear of tasting it bitter.
(my limbs grow longer, tangled in old memories
like necklaces i no longer wear)
my mouth is dry and empty of wisdom
words leaving claw marks on my existence
to prove i tried to leave something of meaning
(there are names no longer spoken
and gravestones unmarked)
there is no greater fear in death
than feeling unfulfilled
expectations crushing my youth
blaming vulnerability as wasted time
(my father is a businessman,
success painted on the ground he walks on
i am a woman of words)
i choke on rotten honey / the immunity
of its youth merely another fantasy
of the world i battle to understand
(i am constantly afraid that i will
become nothing born from a family
of something)
i hold expectation in my calloused hands
dreams shattering into dust and stinging
my bleeding wounds
(i am made of wealth or i am nothing.)
Via Sheahin is a high school student from Chicago with a passion for words and the importance of speaking up. She has been previously published in literary magazines such as Cathartic Lit and Élan. When not writing, she can be found reading or enjoying time with loved ones.
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