Push me
in a gurney as father chases after
I curiously peeled back the padding
and cracked my tiny forehead open
because nobody watched the toddler.
Push me
around, and down to the ground,
bruising my weak arm for weeks,
bruising my soul for half my life
just because of childish mistakes.
Push me
to balling up, bawling my heart out
in the corner of the cold kitchen floor
as you condescend and speak with ice
as if there was no love nor warmth left.
Push me
to break out of my paper-thin bubble
with honest, earnest teenage naivety,
but you forgot that we're imperfect
so you abandon me without a word.
Push me,
but I won't push back. Not even once.
There's enough pushing done by us all.
I will pull myself up and grow stronger.
I will pull others up and onto their feet.
6 October 2019
