Member Poem

i have so much love in me, it spills
like milk left too long in the sun—
sweet, then sour, then spoiled
by hands that never learned how to hold it.

i pour it anyway.
into cracked cups,
into mouths that spit it back.
into cold palms that only know how to take.

my father loved with silence and slammed doors.
affection was a myth i found in fairytales—
and in the way my mother folded my laundry
without asking.

he looked at me like a stranger who never left.
not like a daughter.
not like blood.
just someone he could never want.

i built my own warmth from scraps—
sunlight on tile,
the hum of a fridge,
the echo of my mother laughing in another room.

when i look in the mirror,
i don’t see warmth.
i see him.
rage sits behind my pupils
like smoke in a locked room.

hands that tremble with restraint.
a jaw clenched like a fist.
resentment curled in my mouth
like something i chewed too long to swallow.

i shut my eyes and reach for softness.
and there she is—
my mother in a kiss to my forehead,
when no one else remembered to love me.

in the way she quieted my sobs
with warm batter and vanilla.
in the way she pulled me from class
to shop for joy like it was medicine.

i am my father’s daughter—
but i carry my mother’s mercy.
that keeps me human.
that keeps me from burning it all down.