Wings

Part 6: Mama

I remember her so clearly,
the time before she left me.
People often say I look like her.
Ageless, full of inner strength, my nurturer.
Her gaze was fulfillment, her greeting a homecoming.
I stretch my hands out to her hoping to end my suffering.
I'm asleep now as they come to check up on me.
I know there's something wrong. I'm not just pretending.
I get up when the clock strikes one, surrounded by the color white.
My medication comes pouring in so I take one without a fight.
It's as if I've finally awakened, seeing something scratched into a wall.
Then my room is splattered with color. When did it get so small?
I cannot seem to understand where I'm at. These colors are so vibrant.
No longer do I know laughter. All I know is that "I can't" is a constant.
I'm going crazy not knowing a way out.
I get tired wondering what this room is really about.
It's morning now and this place is still a mess.
I walk through the door hoping it'll relieve my stress.
But I am met with a frame.
The sky is blue, the sun is shining and I still feel the same.
Now I take a bite of my snack, staring a what appears to be a mama.
Holding a baby in her arms, shielding him from all this trauma.
I wish I had wings,
a shortcut to the road of my dreams.
But it's clear to me now,
that being by her side will forever be a doubt.