Random bursts of anger will become quite
frequent in my journal and notebooks,
where I use a ball point pen to rewind
time in a more poetic fashion.

The family is coming up or-
down and I can’t seem to get my
head unwrapped from frustration.

I can’t stand the way they don’t even bother
to pinch my cheeks.

Their chubby, wrinkly fingers go straight towards my waist-
except now, they won’t be able to grab much.

This is where the “you know what” hits the fan
and I’m spinning miracles as I hold my breath through
the ceremony and the luncheon.

Magnificent should be my new nick name-
I’m holding my tongue!
Yet I am no lady in the sense where I smile and nod.

My eyes find themselves doing circles and my lips smirk more than smile.
Yet my tongue is held!
I’m not one for wordless fights
But-

I’ve arranged a certain point in time where I can
say one thing that protects me from feeling obliged to
pull out my owl ring and crack skulls.

This is all I can afford right now

I’m saving up for a better way to let you know.
Yet my tongue is held and I know this too will be torn apart by my mother,
and I too will wish to tear myself apart.

No- I’m just going hold my tongue
and wait for the “you know what” to fall from the fan
so you can slip, and fall in it.
then, I will open my mouth- but just to laugh.