By Gabriela Leon
I wrote my way out
Of the bullshit I was burdened with;
Of a mother who would punish me
Who did more than merely hit me.
I wrote my way out
Of the drowsiness of depression;
Of the long afternoons spent
Sitting in my bathroom with a razor in my hand.
I wrote my way out
Of the silence that haunted my apartment;
Of the dullness in my father's eyes
When my mother blamed me for her departure.
I wrote my way out
Of the dull ache in my legs
Of the criss-cross bumps on my calves she left.
When I told her I could pay for school,
Do it all without her.
I wrote my way out
Of the gag she put in my mouth
Of the weight of everything I couldn't say
When I was too ashamed to speak.
I wrote my way out
Of the anger
Of the pain
Of the shame.
I wrote my way out
Of the scars my mother left.
I rose out of them as though they were
Mounds of soil where the seeds of me
Were laid, waiting for the sun.
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