Do you hear me, Ma?

For all that melts in this month of fallen petals rising, you're a paperclip, hanging on the edge of my bookshelf, bent into a heart.
You drag me off and bend me down, cry for me and kneel me down, turn to me when you frown; and all of it melts, like spring to summer.
Why mustn't I reek of hatred, from birth to maternity? You left me at the edge, wallowing for help, hanging from the ledge.
My cries stop.
I remember. I remember the time I held your finger with all my strength and told you about the times I hadn't given up. You didn't bat an eye, and I felt hanging.
Do you remember when I was 7 and you, with your newly bought side bag, hanging, got mistaken for my sister? We laughed together and called them dummies. Do you remember, they weren't?
All these flowers I bring you after every rendezvous, my love for you, why do they sag? Tie a knot on their neck, let them hang, keep them from falling. It must remind you of something, someday.

Mustafa Tajwar Araf is a highschool student who writes his heart out when he can't go out.