My mother does not know
that my pillows smell
of the pads of dogs’ paws,
and my soul of burning Cherrywood
My mother does not know
that my routine echoes
the pop of a fresh can of tennis balls,
and my heartbeat screeches like worn tyres
My mother does not know
that I shall have a white Christmas this year
with snowdrops of marshmallow feel,
while my desires ably sear steel
My mother does not know
that I endure Twitter storms by day
and slay dragons in my sleep
to afford my upkeep
My mother knows the chimes of the sea
but she does not know me
or my world as it be.
Sumaiya Vawda is an 18-year-old scholar in Pietermaritzburg, South Africa. When she’s not procrastinating with school assignments or engaging in political discourse, she may be found pouring herself onto paper.