Wordless

I read my old writings today:
pencilmarks on yellowed pages –
and through scrawlings,
I learned my own words
hurt more than anyone else's.

More than my mother's
and her words
were the worst,
insults fill the spaces of our
years of silence,I still remember looking up
"selfish" in the dictionary at six.

And today, I saw myself
change, in my own handwriting –
My poems made it worse –
haikus for you, pages of verse,
in every line:
love, love,  and more love,

and through my mother's words,
and my handwriting –
I've never loved anyone.

Reviews

[Mike P.]

the sadness permeates....resonates
this is one hell of a piece. its not a complicated one and that is part of its appeal.
it's telling and compelling but in a manner that is very attainable and relatable.
i think i will store this in my fav archives. i don't think i've read you before but that will be rectified now.
bravo
6