Doris R. Vega

WHAT ABOUT ME, MAMA?

Remembering those days, during the worst of it
when the pain began to seep through the cracks
of the wall I had become
from the pain that never ended, day or night
digging its claws deep into one’s heart, tearing away
at the smile worn as a mask
pain the only thing they ever taught me there
months and years on end, it made me a monster.

In the killing silence, withdrawing out of need
I didn’t love anymore, needing her not
my God, my God, what did I do in selfishness
the pain became me and I became it
she needed tenderness, her life a struggle too
the rage and anger froze me deep, trapped in despair
finding solace in a dark and empty room
nowhere to turn, the world a two-faced mess.

The loneliness I gave her, but not the happiness
other things took precedence, the ones erasing memory
that shut down everything, just me, me, me, me, me
is where the focus was, not where it should have been
the smiles and the hugs became fewer and fewer
until I had nothing but tears left to give
and even those dried up, as my heart became stone
to everything around.

Trying so hard to love me more, as I loved her less
she couldn’t comprehend, bewildered and confused
lacking all that a mother should give
without a father’s steady hand, I failed her terribly
thinking that I could cope in automatic patterns
sitting beside me, not realizing, it would be the last time
she pleaded with me, for the love I had, but couldn’t give…

… when she said… “What about me, Mama?”