When I was a very little girl
Nine, ten, maybe
My mother
Would come home from work
Kick her stilettos off
I think they made her feel taller
Made her feel stronger
Like the cruelty of the world
Had not already defeated her

She would collapse on our
Hard hand me down sofa
And cry for hours
I would wrap my tiny little arms
Tightly around her neck
And hold on to the storm
That was my mother
That broken woman who nurtured me
Into the woman I am now

I would whisper,
“Shhh. It’s going to be okay.”
And she would hold on tight
To the little girl that believed
In a God that would make
Everything okay

Now I’m an old woman
Who refuses to wear stilettos
Who knows she’s not tall
Or strong
Who knows God very rarely
Makes everything okay

It’s morning now
And I have not slept
In England the blackbirds would be singing

I can hear a song in my head
The Verve
“Now the drugs don’t work
They just make it worse”

Still

The klonopin bottle beckons
And I want to take enough to sleep
Through tomorrow
And the next today too

And forget
That nothing will ever
Be okay again

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