Slam Poetry

I don’t believe in god anymore, but I believe in my mom.
I believe in my mom.
I believe my mom when she tells me she should have never had me.
I believe my mom when she’s curled up on the side of her bed shrinking like a burned cigarette.
My mom doesn’t smoke but
She whispers,
I don’t think I’ll make it through this year.
100,000 dollar tuition is a lot of money.
How much do you think a life’s worth?
My professor is 15 minutes late to class, and I wonder how many sessions she could have had.
I get a C on my test, and I wonder if she could have been able to go to my graduation.
I drink warm wine at a party, and I wonder if she’ll be at my wedding.
But I’m not that naive.
My dad says he can take out another mortgage on the house.
My mom says might as well, we won’t be around to pay it off.
He’s 53 and retirement is a foreign word when all he’s ever known is that
He has six mouths to feed
Four to send to college
And only one job.
As if my future is more important than her life.
It’s hard to be a daughter and a therapist,
But I know it’s even harder to be a mother and a patient.
Insurance doesn’t cover it,
Because if she ain’t bleedin, she ain’t broke right?
Some days she can’t leave the house,
Some days she can’t look at me.
Just because you’re breathing,
Doesn’t mean you’re alive.
Everyday this voice in her head claws at her,
Rips up her insides,
Sets fire to her heart,
Strangles her confidence,
And beats the happy out of her.
Black shirt, Blue jeans
Is the only thing she’ll wear
Because she doesn’t want people to look at her.
I haven’t seen her smile in smile three weeks,
But she’s still breathing right?
I sit in class,
That’s got a $3,000 cover,
My mom hides from the world,
Locks herself in a bathroom.
Jail can be kinda lonely when you’re the only prisoner in the only cell,
And I haven’t been writing like I said I would.
I’m late to class,
And I wonder if I’ll get a phone call.
The same phone call I got about my grandma,
The same phone call I got about my nana,
They’ll tell me that the bathroom swallowed her whole.
That the voice slit her throat.
They’ll tell me it’s not my fault.
Then they’ll ask me how college is going,
About all the good I’m doing,
How bright my future looks,
How many lives I’ll save with my degree,
They won’t mention the woman I killed to get it.
They say knowledge is power,
I guess I should’ve realized power came at such a high price.
I fall asleep in class,
And I wonder if she would have been cured by now?
Because mental disorders ain’t cheap but college ain’t cheap neither,
And I’m still trying to live with the fact that I chose the latter.
That I chose my education over her life.
And I’m still pissed off that as a 17 year old girl in our healthcare system,
I had to make that choice in the first place.
Because everyday I’m here, I know she’s ain’t getting any better.
Some days I wake up,
And I find myself writing her eulogy,
And I give credit where credit is due,
So I sign my name at the bottom.