Unsaid, Unasked, Untold

Shom Okami

These days when my mother texts,
“How are you doing?”
I want to say many things.
I want to say I don’t know
How I am.
I want to say I could be better, Ma.
Or talk about the fact that
I went through depression
And immense anxiety.
I want to tell her about
Being a feminist.
I want to tell her about
My queer life.
I want to talk to her about boys
About weddings, about marriage
About having children of my own.
I want to tell her that I miss her;
That I wish they understood
What being gay means;
That I wish they loved me
Unconditionally still.
I want to tell her that
She was my safe place.
I want to ask her
Why she isn’t anymore.
I want to tell her that she is forgiven.
I want us to reset and start.
Instead, I say “I am fine, Ma.
How are Baba and you doing?”

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