Dying inside.

A poem about the psychic powers of a mother’s love.

i am home
because something 
is dying inside of me
and i need my momma

and i say nothing to her 
because men like me
don't talk to their mommas
when they are dying inside, 
scared they might break 
their momma's heart

but mommas have a way
of sensing this dying,
of knowing this dying,
of feeling this dying,
having felt their boy's heart          beat
so close to their own,
once upon a time

and she sees me 
passing through the living room
and she walks over to me,
and she wraps her arms around me, 
and she looks up at me 

and she says:

you know, 
i don't tell you enough 
how beautiful
you are

and she buries her face
in my shirt
and she squeezes tight,
tighter, 
tighter even,
and then she releases me
and she returns to her day,

unaware she has saved 
my life, 

again.