A poem which reflects on how many mothers, bound by societal norms, choose to ignore their child's struggle.
A personal reflection on how food and love are dialects of the same tongue.
Was Monroe always a victim, did she have no agency?
'To think that I spent three quarters of a year inside her belly. Breathing inside her. Moving inside her. Becoming inside her.'
'Why haven't you ever been my abode?'
An ode to a bond.
A poem on how the poet doesn’t resemble her mother, and how it makes her feel when it's pointed out.