Why I Keep Rocks In My Pockets

My mother had an angst about me

I was a garden of unplanted flowers

My leaves reeked of poison

Toxins she never wanted

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My mother had an angst about me

I was pamphlets of books,

People once tried to set fire to

Ashes that resurrected

//

My mother had an angst about me

I was the treasure in the chest

They tried to bury in the sea

With secrets to destroy civilization.

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Dear mother, what does it feel like

To create something you were never to become?

(Its just a poem, chill.)

(Image is from Pinterest, the credit goes to the creator)