PERSON Poem: Nothing Like a (Step)Mother’s Love , by Kristin Austin

First she’s sour, then she’s sweet,
Sickly, even.

Looking me up and down,
I feel her eyes unthreading me.

You’d be surprised how long a breath can last,
I bow my head.

I’m a slut for wearing shorts and a tank top in the summer,
I should change.

When I emerge in my jeans, and 3 quarter sleeve,
I’m suddenly beautiful and modest in the 110 degree weather.

I just need a hug,
I guess I’ll throw some dirt on it and call it a day instead.

Dirt doesn’t fill the hole..

Maybe a snack would help?
She says I’m bored, not hungry.

So instead, I sip on escapism,
In an attempt to convince myself she’s right.

She is right,
Always right,

Never wrong,
Never misremembering.

Her word is law.

She’s a provider, sure,
Of fear, resentment, adversity.

Smothered in delusion,
She tells me it’s my fault.

What is?
“Everything.”
It is absolute.