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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() My Ah-ma is not your superwoman she cannot make seconds drop dead in their tracks yet in her trade with time, we are never compromised as items floating next to each grain of sand in a hourglass My Ah-ma is not your superwoman she cannot surf between soundwaves on sandcastles of anger, hate while I drown in my emotions she swims above on clouds in honey dripping from her golden hair melting me My Ah-ma is not your superwoman
nor the suckling to housework in which she was yelled at for not taking the guts out before cooking the fish My Ah-ma is not your superwoman her arms are not the powerhouse her calves do not feed blood the mitochondria in ten thousand ants told me, they cannot lift her groceries My Ah-ma is not your superwoman her tongue cannot taste the bitter sauce left by ancestors in the village where a dirt hole filled the absence of a toilet My Ah-ma is not your superwoman she cannot steal from a stolen childhood blistering in the silhouette of the oil lamp carved between each stroke of her pen that the black ink traced her future My Ah-ma is not your superwoman to pray over the grave funneling fog spitting under the swallow of a casket next to her mother burning to ashes My Ah-ma is not your superwoman is it better to kiss in married lipstick than to unspool beauty from solitude before walking the labyrinth fractured over infidelity? My Ah-ma is not your superwoman when will I see her fifty years stop hanging from wrinkle wedded skin breathe in the science of forgetting that all memories are long washed away in unlearning My Ah-ma is not your superwoman She is my superhero. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
November 2023
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