Excuse me, are these your kids?



I get sucked into their mouths

where breaths are lost

inhalations are dense

but I hear the words

birthed in their throats

lungs filled halfway

they’re drowning

empty and trapped

with fist pounding chest

yearning for your love


their empty stomachs

weep at night

when you’re not home

they ache for presence

confusion, neglect

they don’t understand

but eagerness drives them

to comprehend

your self-hate

and ‘why?’

and ‘what happened?’

the gut churns

from the feeding of lies

rushed mornings

have become the norm

screechy voice

yelling ‘hurry up!’

and ‘where’s my keys?’

agitated nerves

peace seems to pass you

regurgitating darkness

tainting the spirits

that surround you

so, they wander

like lost cubs finding a way

scared and alone

clinging on to

the threads that dangle

redundant patterns

absence stings less

as time goes by

afflictions get heavy

hormones fatten

feelings flood high

perspectives surface

little by little

boyhood disintegrates

way ahead of time

rage builds up

resentment takes tow

they see you

they see all of you



and look at them.

Are these your kids?


©2017 Liza Morales









further and further

the distance becomes

my arms are tired

but your feet have mileage


a stranded spirit

charging full speed

like the express 6 train

zooming by

skipping stops

uninterested in the journey

seeking a destination

that always seems to come

to a familiar dead end

with no one there

but a mirror and yourself

you hate what you see

so you keep running

with tears in your eyes

not of regret

but more so, frustration

repeating the same

expecting something different

Get out of your way!

and hold still for a minute


but you oppose

it’s too uncomfortable

so, you keep running

like the express 6 train —

my arms are tired

but your feet have mileage

you will get weary,

I hope.


© 2017 Liza Morales