Ma,
Born and raised,
You always said,
“Not safe for you.”
You wouldn’t let me go alone;
Other kids do, I would moan;
I could cry, bawl, argue, and groan,
“Not safe for you”, you frown.
Ma,
You were like an impeding shadow,
Dragging me down and low,
Just with your words to follow,
You even chose my friend and my foe;
Because it was, “not safe for you”.
But Ma,
When he came at me with such a rage,
Inexplicable to a girl of that age,
You closed the door, put me in a cage,
To this day, I shudder at that image;
“Not safe for you” was garbage.
Ma,
You looked over me,
You looked out for me,
But when “home” wasn’t safe for me,
You just looked at me.