Sputterpub's Blog

I tend to misconstrue when I am hurt –
at least that was the pattern in my youth.
Confusing it with anger, I’d assert
a righteous argument, although the truth
I hid within, behind my strident blurt,
was needy kid. It doesn’t take a sleuth
or shrink to diagnose my ancient pain:
“Your feelings? Can it!” was my mom’s refrain.

(Ottava Rima)

My mother never liked my hair till now
(and recent comments may be insincere).
She always criticized and told me how
I ought to wear it. In my 7th year,
she had it hacked away – with blurt and sneer
she claimed it was a bother to maintain.
I thought hair length should be within my sphere,
but she pulled rank and made it her domain.

(Huitain)