Venom Of Disrespectful Words Poem by ms. carrot

Every time they mocked her; it was as if my throat would be on hiatus with the tune of the rasping words and my voice would desert its soul. It was as if the rage in my heart puzzled itself because she held my warm frail hands. Silence was what she meant. But my rage knew no limits; no stops, as it shot from my heart to the throat and into my tongue but the touch of her hands obstructed it. The egoists would look at her with distrust in their eyes. The viscous venom that poured from their lips; and now after those extensive years, each and every limb in my body, could remember the rancorous taste of it. That day I felt the light squeeze of her anger, run through the tips of her soft indulgent fingers, and onto the palm of my own, as our hands connected. It was as if two pairs of hands that bonded together this rage; a rage that was never expressed. And now, the venom would frost itself in layers into my limbs as if it was always part of my body. The untouched part which was my darkened heart cursed her for not pouring out her own venom. Even know I wonder why mother always keeps quiet.