ode from a dented child

mother is a captain pirate at times
with her stern gaze and sharp whips
navigating the ship called a dysfunctional
but an average family through voyages
good and bad times
often we are in a trouble thanks to her
as much as we may be out of a trouble
rolling highwind and salt burns among
the edges of squinting eyes on water
we somehow survive the storm
which in retrospectively
wasnt too bad anyways

mother is sometimes a self-appointed mayor
of a town where no two are alike
more conflicts than resolutions suggested
she rules the town of a very small stature
non-important
non-existing to others
into times of surplus and great losses
everyday she dons her legal self
with hands rougher than sand papers
with all earnest of ah honest soul
on a toy map
she carefully draws plans and processes
with stains of optimism

mother never really got me yet
begotten but a lost child
much loved and much more loathed
probably more tears shed from both parties
though at least mine were all well-earned
streaks of stubbornness gritted teethmarks
the wishes and advices for
girl made with candyfloss and dreams
are lost as we sink
bobbles of a lava lamp
floats up and down continuously
always separated if closer
never quite in sync but
always around one another

i joke
a preemie
evicted early from womb
my entire meager weight in worries
grew small shells to curl into
like an armadillo

it is the soft touches
with blind luck of hers
always if not sometimes
reaching over the shells
the soft bits bruising from caresses
tender touch that make me bleed
like a terribly curious child
all she wants to do is
love this damaged child
that she never really knows