Jacqueline M. Pérez


People judge you Mother give life, she
don’t believe you, would never
me. It seemed that tyrannical. Her but
you generally all terrorist on her want
harshly when you they don’t to be a
mother are try to all worst. She
mothers were make resentment towards
yourself criticize tries to burden. But
your own horrible, always cherish it.
but I do like this to she trap you in an
some interesting. me for trying to
But not mother. isolated herself so
They’re all believe Some mother are
every single degree. endless cycle of
But once mom. She have a life apart
just sits hypocrites that only her pity,
because one is horribly selfish from
capable of my gut, anger, hers was
father died each beasts taught
there expecting me would be cloak in
person who there evident.
great horror, even to resentment, blame,
was no buffer sit She robes of showy
there, too—for there for her, no one
judges you for the refused any attempt
little fragile-and selfishness. I
between my mother gestures of to do
hours and hours else—no friends, no
criticizing your and anything gratitude
looking porcelain never saw this until
my world. And until and aside from
she needs my other family, not my
mother holds within watch charity father
doll mothers—help. died. even designed
she was determined to her only son.
She wants maybe That’s television
them many deep to and eat not entirely
especially me on Maybe make you
own my world. feel guilty all
standby, like those. mothers true. I
resentments Then, between popping
My mother a slave saw it, but aren’t so
she nearly towards for peeking through
—her own is an demented. didn’t let
their own died and pain pills. If you to it
emotional child, bother But mine the
during her mother—rotting core. is.
upon whom want people to I’m
perhaps recovery exaggerating? want
vampire on her best to be with No. I
she even hatred. she always claimed
became even more days, an emotion

You can find Jacqueline M. Pérez most days in a courtroom with an expression of incredulity on her face. Regardless of the fact that she usually accepts what is going on around her, she hasn't stopped being surprised by what people say. She'd rather be taking photographs of trees and ponds. Her poems and stories have appeared in Otoliths, The Birds We Pile Loosely, Eunoia Review, and Brasilia Review.
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