We burden her.
She won’t admit it, but we burden her.
We talk, but she doesn’t like being reminded of her burdens.
We cry, and her burdens are overwhelming.
She can’t stand us.
Forbid her burdens have issues that need attention.
Forbid they demand health treatments that cost money.
Isn’t it feminist to be selfish?
She wants to think so, and selfishness it is.
This burden doesn’t react well when yelled at by the Abusive Coward,
But let’s slap a “sensory overload” tag on it and call it good.
That burden doesn’t like being threatened by the Abusive Coward,
It leaves and it’s a bad, bad burden.
The smallest burden, the loudest, it needs attention and her time,
but that time is called for by the Abusive Coward.
The coward, he is the victim when he strikes a Burden.
The coward, he is the victim when he threatens a Burden.
The coward, he is the victim when a Burden cries.
She sees humanity in the coward,
She sees love in the coward,
She sees hope, light, and prospect in him.
Her burdens weigh her down,
Suck her dry, they kill her spirit.
Despite being their mother, these burdens are inhuman.
She carried them around, 9 months each.
9 months to learn to despise them,
9 months to learn she would never have freedom.
9 months to realize she carried the children of a man she loathed.
I am her burden, one which has been steadily growing seventeen years.
I am her problem, which she can’t ignore.
I am the outspoken burden which plagues her,
Plaguing her existence with demands.
Extremities which cannot be fulfilled.
Demands which are impossible.
Requests that are beyond capability.
I am your burden, mom.