THE THORNS ON MY MOTHER
Talita Smith, 2020
As beautiful and empowering as a rose with a thorn
Although with the seasons she became torn.
For no one was there when she was weak
But all were there to say she was some freak.
And all the constant arguments in her head
Led her to become restless in her bed.
And the constant whispers of despair echoed
As she told herself to let it go.
The winters enhanced her anguish
Making her awfully squeamish.
Slowly ripping each petal off
Like a flower bare
She constantly questioned how this could be fair.
Her countenance desperately became blank
As her family saw that she continuously drank.
But I could see the anchor on her back
And the bitter stains in her heart like liquorice black.
For she was still my mother,
The woman with the heart of gold
These thoughts were easy to hold.
But she became a prisoner to her own mind
We all tried our hardest to be kind.
But as soon as the warmth of the sun got to her roots
She put on her big girl boots.
She said goodbye to her demons
And cheered on her own redemption.
Her smile gave me warmth like a summery night
I’m so proud of her strong fight.
For that beautiful and empowering rose with her thorn
Realized that she was no longer torn.