07
Everywhere I look,
she’s there.
Staring at me.
I hate it when she does that.
Stare.
Why would she stare?
Is it because of the pimple in my forehead?
Or the bruise I have in my arm?
Is she trying to understand how my adolescent mind works?
Is she trying to intimidate me with that fierceful look?
Is she trying to find the secrets in my eyes that I would only tell my friends?
She will never understand how I feel.
These are different times,
Different ways of interaction.
She will never understand how I live my life.
Even though she wants to, she will never know.
Staring.
That’s all she does.
Stare at my face.
Stare at my grades.
Stare at my life.
Stare at my mess.
But, maybe I’m getting this all wrong.
Is she staring at my ragged shirt, or at my heart?
Is she staring at the pimple in my forehead, or at my brain?
Is she staring at my eye bags, or at my health?
All these things she stares at, are for a reason.
I will never understand “The Staring”,
until I get children of my own.
But at least I know she does it because she loves me.
Even though I hate it,
Thank you mom,
Please be there to stare.
The Staring