My Weakness

I see the face you wear all the time—
“They don’t care at all.”
You don’t want any more of us.
Run, thought, run…
Spinning in my mind,
It’s all your fault my child died.
Like a broken record,
Replaying over and over,
But this time, with a knife in sight,
The television hums in the background.
I try to move forward, but everywhere I turn,
Shadows creep in—
Silently, without a sound.
Slowly, they approach,
One hand on my mouth,
One on my shoulder,
Turning their gaze back to my past.
A smirk, knowing my weakness.
From the corner of my eye,
A dark figure watches me,
Writing it all down in the passageway,
Waiting patiently to strike with its claws.
I overhear conversations—
Mother and daughter,
My ears hearing too many untruths,
Anger rising, but a calmer tone steadies the balance.
He’s young, soon to be four,
His laughter brings calm,
Smiles spread across his joyful face,
Fooling around with his giant uncle Jay.
Sweet, comforting sounds.
My heartbeat unsteady,
Now its rhythm slows,
Child, you do not know your worth to me—
The broken me.
Your presence saved me,
Kept me from trembling,
Falling from the sky.

Gwen.P