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My mamas voices

mental health observance

My mamas voices
Photo by MontyLov on Unsplash

I watch her eyes shift away from mine,

her head winding,

bringing her ear into her shoulder.

Whispering under her breath,

a whisper that could be felt.

Her hands rolled into a fist,

nails piercing into skin.

Jaw grinding,

shoulders strained,

body no longer willing to sit.

I watch her spirit contorting,

and the spitting rage…

She screams into the vents in the kitchen,

detesting their words,

and violent insults.

She forged ahead to the washroom,

slamming the door.

Unknown things rolled to the floor,

“You mother fuckers, get out of my head”,

she screamed.

A minute ago she'd been telling me a story,

clear as morning dew.

Her eyes where on mine,

I felt her with me.

A few years ago there were no voices at all.

Now Her eyes they cloud,

The voices frequent.

She says they are louder now,

They don't let her sleep,

She can no longer work.

I am slowly losing her,

But her body is still strong at only 50.

They torment her,

She begs them to leave her alone,

But they only grow stronger.

They belittle her,

and taunt her.

They push to displace her,

saying she does not deserve her home.

They twist her stomach and genitals from inside.

People stare,

And scoff as we walk through the streets.

She notices and screams at them,

and spits on them,

She is convinced they are the source of her pain.

She's begging me,

tell them to stop.

Pleading with me,

Accusing me of corroboration,

and then begging for my forgiveness once she has calmed.

There is nothing to forgive,

I feel guilt and helplessness overcome me.

Why can't I extend myself further,

Why can't I dismantle them,

I pray that the cycle will come to a low.

She hears them all through the day,

and sleepless nights.

They call her from different directions,

no matter what she does,

or who she is with.

She is my mama,

and sometimes I am hers.

I love her with my entire soul,

I would die for her,

not to have to hear those voices daily.

We are forgotten,



and broken,

but we are not alone.

Read next: Poem: New Life
Alissa Varchaver
See all posts by Alissa Varchaver