Where has my mother gone?

Deliberate

condescending observations,
criticisms left at my doorstep

bridled with judgment
and riddled with disappointments.

they're left there,
reminding me

no room in this house
is to be decorated

without credit,
not lacking her royalties.

i can hear her
creeping at night,

giggling and clumsy

as though she wishes to unravel

herself to me.

i used to pray for her,
fixed between my doorway

shedding myself
for her insecurities

and i would watch her
slither...

determined to find
where she slipped into her

wayward ways-

so i could resuscitate
her from herself.

routinely,
she would whimper
as i dressed her,

preparing her for the war
she would undoubtedly endure.

i told her i loved her,
god, i loved her

she would drool
half-witted responses,

reassuring that she loved herself, too.

her head slumped
at the weight of centeredness,

[breaking my heart]
finding the truths

of her incapabilities.

i kissed her forehead
and let her give into
self-destruction

wishing she'll
never realize
the inescapable:

she can not defeat herself.