A Mother’s Ghost

My mommy wounds aren’t soaked in tears,

They’re shaped like walls and wired with fears.

A subtle distrust that doesn’t fade—

Lurking beneath each connection made.

My daddy’s love, a different ache,

A love that gave just what it’d take.

His hands once rocked me into sleep,

Then cracked the trust he swore to keep.

He’d weep and say he’d change his ways,

Then bruise me blind in darker days.

He kissed my wounds, then made them bleed,

Then vanished when I dared to need.

His love a glimpse I only peered,

Left me chasing what I feared.

In arms of men who wouldn’t stay,

I gave myself to feel okay.

Like damaged goods, with worth erased,

Just wanting someone’s warm embrace.

But Mom—she left a subtler mark,

No beatings there, but still so stark.

She made me question every “friend,”

Afraid all women leave in the end.

I watched my words, I watched my tone,

Convinced I'd always be alone.

That if I showed my truest face,

They’d vanish too, without a trace.

Yet in the rubble, God drew near—

A Father real, who crushed my fear.

He called me "daughter," claimed my name,

And crowned me royalty in my shame.

I wed a man so kind, so true,

Who’d never bruise me black or blue.

His gentleness—a healing balm,

A steady hand, a holy calm.

From old pain, a vow was made,

A covenant that doesn’t fade.

My heart once torn, began to mend—

A scar turned seal that would not bend.

But still, my mother’s ghost remains,

A phantom laced in softer chains.

I tense when warmth begins to near,

Unsure if love is safe or mere.

I brace myself for hearts to turn,

For warmth to chill, for touch to burn.

For women kind to run away,

When all my flaws are on display.

I carry wounds the world can’t see,

But heaven still makes space for me.

I know I have a Mother too—

The Virgin pure, the Church so true.

A family born of Spirit breath,

Who pulls me close and weeps my depth.

I taste new hope in friendships grown,

In in-laws who have gently shown

That maybe love can really stay—

Not fade like light at end of day.

Yet still I dwell in in-between,

Where ghosts still haunt and wounds aren’t clean.

Where trust walks in, then holds its breath,

Afraid of grief, afraid of death.

When will it be too much to bear?

When will they leave me, standing there?

I long to rest in love’s embrace—

No fear, no mask, no need to chase.