I never mentioned it.
I always said I was fine,
That I had a mom and a dad.
I never said my mom died.
That cancer took her.
I never said I cared for her the best a child could.
That I helped her in every way I knew how.
I never said it was just the two of us.
That my dad wasn’t there,
busy building a new life somewhere else.
I never said I don’t settle roots,
because I’m afraid they’ll be torn up again.
I never said how, over time,
I began to forget her.
How her memory now feels like a distant fog.
I never said I hate taking photos,
because I tell the world I’m fine,
but my eyes always tell the truth.
I never mention any of this.
But life goes on.
