DOLL

 There's a kind of loss you don't recover from.

It's the white elephant in the room against

the television set that's on a tad too loud 

to stifle the muted silence in the air 

it's your mother's face fighting back tears

removing traces of your father's existence 

the wheelchair, the bathroom facilities, the motorised vehicle

and her daughter asking 

wait it hasn't been a hundred days 

but does it really matter anymore 

it's the way the world continues to spin 

and how unjust it feels at such a young age

the way people process the loss of a parent 

like something you bounce back from 

the way you would peel back the plaster from a burn 

and amidst all that you've been through

you truly do not wish this upon anyone else 

a lot of things in life really don't matter 

yet so few people have recognised this 

I have been writing in my journal but this feels like poetry