Jun 23, 2020
I am a servant for my mothers unhappiness. I can make myself smaller, mother, I can become quieter. I am a wound that you canโt stop picking. I take scraps from dinner as little parts of love. I know that I am not easy to love. I know I wear my sadness so visibly that youโve become ashamed of me. Make me small, crush me up in the palms of your hands. Destroy me for breakfast and devour me for lunch, leave nothing left of me, not even for the birds. Eat me. Eat me up. Itโs too late to apologise now, sorry means nothing when youโre choking on my leftovers.
โ Hannah Green, from โAre you still hungry, Mother?โ
