God bless my mother


through 22 years,

saw weakness, hypocrisy, fear,

the very monstrous sickness

of her child.

And all the while,

not an echo stirred

of her love.

Not a ripple formed

in waters of judgment.

She, who knows me second-best,

withstood the test

of stone-casting,

leaving me


and granting me

infinite chances.

So I question

the undertaking

of passersby,

who point,

laugh and cry and string

assessments from a single hair.


Fuck you.

Point that finger

up your ass.

Because talking shit leaves gas,

and God loves his air.

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