Because You Asked Me To

This is a short poem I wrote in honor of my Matron, Lilith. I wrote something for her, because she asked me to.

Because You Asked Me To

Mother won’t you hold me in your embrace

At the very least show me I have a place

Within your heart and within your home
Make it obvious
Make it known

Mother can’t you see the pain I’m in

You and I both know better

This isn’t the suffering of sin

How should I send you a letter

To remind you that we’re still kin

Mother I haven’t the strength to move on
Am I nothing more than a pawn

In some game I never asked to play
Praying I’ll see the light at the end of day

There must be a way

In order to move along

Mother you asked me to write for you once again
Though I’m neither golden goose

Or prized hen

But I pick up this pen
And now I’m on the loose

I’ll write for you what I can

Matron won’t you hear the whisper of the ink
Perhaps this is all according to your plan
But from where I’m standing
The floor feels like it’s beginning to sink

So Mother

Because you asked me to
I’ll do what I can to keep going
So long as you never stop being you

Author's Note

I wrote this because I've been feeling stuck lately. I've spent the past two years homeless and in a homeless shelter in California, trying to recover from some awful, nasty business. Things have been brighter, but not fully healed. I'm running out of steam, and I prayed to my Matron about it. Sometimes growth feels like suffering, but it's necessary for us to move forward. I wrote her something, because she asked me to.

Reviews

[Jansy]

There’s something deeply human in this- raw and reverent all at once. You don’t just write to your Matron, you write with her, as if the ink itself is a shared pulse. The weariness, the hope, the obedience- "because you asked me to”-it’s all beautifully entangled.

Knowing what you’ve been through adds another layer entirely. You’ve turned survival into invocation, pain into prayer. That’s not easy magic, but it’s the truest kind there is. Keep writing, even when the floor feels like it’s sinking - sometimes that’s exactly where new ground starts to grow.

- James☆

[Kane Hagwood]

Thank you for the kind words and the encouragement, Jansy. You seem to have a knack for breaking down my work and seeing past the layers. I'll do what I can to keep my head up and trust that the floor won't completely break beneath me.
-Kane