remember that

when i was younger, i used to read. i read to take myself out of the element. i read because i had to. there was nothing else to do to distract me from what was around me. i think to some degree, I still read for this same reason. hide yourself in some pages, forget what is real forget what is not. my mother. she was always alone. fraught with anger, there have always been two sides to her. i think maybe the process of poverty, or maybe it's in the genes- or maybe she was exposed to filth as a child- there is no endpoint to excuses. (remember that) my mother. her skin has always been the same color. no emotion i'm all emotion. no emotion coems through her. i think it's maybe the cycle of her frustrations, or maybe it's her environment, or maybe it's the people that linger and hover around her- there is no endpoint to excuses (remember that) i stay and linger and hover around her over her over her over her as if i can protect her. but i know how this shit is going to end.