To mother,

I am your child, mother. I have always waited for you, everyday. I wait for you to come back home, away from those people who do not treat you well. I cannot stop you from going, I know you do it for me. So that I can become better than what you have slogged in your life for. But always know that I’m your son and you can never hide the scars on your soft, white skin. They do not respect you, they will never love you. But I do and I wish you would stop going there. I can feel your pain and your low self respect, but mother I cannot see you hurting. You leave so early and come back after midnight, sometimes you do not even come back.

Since father left, you have tried everything to make our house a happy home. But when you are not happy what use is everything in the house? I’m sorry for my drug problem but I only want to see you happy and when you’re not, which is usually, I take refuge in the other world. The long nights when are gone I have no idea if you will ever return. If I will ever get to see the beautiful face that gave birth to me. I make a promise to you that I will go up to each one of those men who have been with you, and forcibly take away all the happiness they sucked out of you. Even that lady you work under, I will not leave her in peace. Mother, I am young and I do not have either the strength or skills to fight for you yet.  But I want you to see what you do to me.

I cannot stop crying when I know what you have to do. Everyday is like walking on coals knowing those men are touching you like wild animals and you do not have anyone to protect you. Remember that time when I had come to your workplace and left after beating a man up? That happened because I heard the creaking bed and your screams and that man was disrespectful to you. I wish I could carry a gun to save you from this sadness. I’m sorry mother, that I cannot provide for you yet but I will save you from this chauvinistic ghetto that you have to dip yourself in. If I could grant you one power, it would be to make you see yourself from my eyes. You will know how beautiful you are, mother. I hear people talk about you, in hushed whispers. Men and women alike. I wish you would realize how important you are to me. It is a lone house without your laughter through the corridors and the gardens.

It has been two days now, mother, since I saw you last in the beautiful red gown falling from your waist. You, in all your glory, were leaving the house happy, not going back to that black hole. You’re still not back and I’m stuck here inside waiting for you to ring the bell. 

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