Just because you don’t want to hear it doesn’t make it fake news.

I speak a poem about my childhood trauma and you don’t like the culpability you say you have different opinions of my past I say I think you mispronounced, “this isn’t how I imagined my legacy” mispronounced, “I made you in my image who are you to be a visionary not just (my) vision?” Mom,

My shame is a mold that only grows in the parts of me I refuse to shed light on

refuse to talk about. I need a better flashlight a braver mouth a new dictionary to find fresh words to form familiar sounds in new ways. I write a lot of poems about growth but have you ever loved something so much you didn’t notice it never loved you back? sometimes, I’m so focused on