my mother always asked me if my friends were afraid of her.
they never were, of course, but she didn't want to be like her mother.
my friends think my mother is kind, as some moms are.
she never asked me if I was afraid of her.
if she did, I'm not sure I would tell the truth.
I am afraid of her.
on the days she screams for no reason,
or overreacts to something small.
blows things out of proportion.
makes me feel guilty for things that were never in my control.
but I know the fear when she leaves the house and doesn't say when she will be back.
I know the fear of screaming fights and threats she doesn't need to make.
I know the fear of hiding under my desk or in my closet to avoid her anger.
I know the look on her face when she is disappointed.
it is the same face she makes when she is mad.
I know how the car door closes when she is angry.
I always tell her it's not her fault that I have anxiety.
I told myself it wasn't her fault.
but I think it is.
YOU ARE READING
Monsters Are Human
PoetryShe was poetry in a world still learning the alphabet. [ Just poems I found on Tumblr.] [ I do not own any of these!! ] [ The first few are horse poems. But it gets better. ] #230 in Poetry - 1 June 2016
