The Child Who Loves Her Mother
A dedication to our radical, radiant inner children learning to hold our mothers accountable and credit our sources...
My name is Pore. I am everywhere but you only see me when I'm agitated. You pay attention to me only when I break out in anger and humiliate you. Embarrassed and bossed into compliance, you ask me what I want.
I want you to stop hiding in great 'mystery'. I want you to let me be me. Let me be Pore. Let me be poor. Let me be impoverished. Let me cause a fuss, not getting what I want and need.
My name is Pore. I want you to make yourself known to the world: Your longings, your humiliations, your exiles, your everything. I want to see it all, even when I'm inflamed. I want to see you in flames, swollen with desire for love, Swollen with desire to be seen and soothed.
My name is Pore. I want to help you see the blood rushing through your veins, rising to the surface even when you refuse to look. I want to remind you that you are understood, even when you don't get your word for it.
My name is Pore. I want to remind you that you are fully raw, so hidden in plain sight, That you are truly not a mystery, That it is only your willingness to be misunderstood That has me coming back to haunt you.
My name is Pore. You see me now that I am an outraged star in the night sky; Now, learn to see me in broad daylight, When I am calm and at peace.
My name is Pore. Give me the credit I so rightfully deserve, For I do not speak in secret code.