after Dylan Thomas
Since then I fear my mother thinks of me a Curse.
My multi-colored stains unwilling to bless
her with 10-fold of infinity that she graces me.
Though I am glad she sees me true now,
are the vibrant shades of my palette something she can grapple with?
My mother would say, “You used to float with your
great bright smile”. All the while, my aching festered fierce.
The look she gives would beckon a flow of tears
to anyone who has not bartered that freedom away, like I.
God, I plead, just curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.