A poem about my son, who has autism with severe aggressions, on his 19th birthday
|I dodge my son, my only child
His rages uncontrolled.
This tight in me, the Nth degree
grown tired searching for the key
(his fate no fortune could forsee)
a mother's soul was sold.
I live in fear, year after year
The brave in me has died.
The wrath of he, a guarantee
grown vicious in an anti-glee
(the opposite of being free)
I steel my spine and very self
The bend in me is gone.
The soft in me, a yielding tree
grown petrified with every plea
(a tempest born of savage sea)