you love to say, “what can we expect from my brothers? look at where we come from”
as if to somehow appease your mother
when she burns her throat with wrathful regret
and i wonder if you ever think the same of me
when half of me comes from the rotting flesh that stained our lives
i am no better than the ones you resent
you shake your head and say, “that’s different”
but does half of you hurt too?
half of me will always hurt, i think
half of me will always rot
try as you may, try to forget
mira de dónde vengo, mamá
Lotus is a student living in Montréal, QC. When she’s not writing, you’ll find her listening to music or studying Mandarin Chinese.