Mother, Let me Explain


Let me tell you about two children of my own.

I've had them for awhile, and I'm surprised you haven't noticed.


I have devils in my pocket.

Two little devils.

They snag crumbs from my plate,

They wait patiently outside the shower,

They sit on my night stand as I sleep.

Sometimes they are more noticable,

Sometimes I can almost forget they exist.


In my left pocket is Anxiety.

And in my right, is Depression.

I call them Alex and Delilah.

Like my children, I keep them safe and watch them grow. 

They aren't very social, and they don't like to be seen.

They stay in my pockets most times,

Weighing me down everyday as they get bigger.


Alex is mischievious, 

He likes to make people worry. 

He jumps from my pocket, into my chest,

He makes my heart race,

He makes my hands shake, 

My breathing quicken, 

My voice scream,

My body paralyzed.

And when people rush to my aid and ask if I'm okay,

He snickers, 

And hunkers down into my pocket again.


Delilah is shy.

But she likes to eat.

And when she indulges herself, 

She gets bigger and bigger until she pokes out of my pocket.

Then people see her and ask,

"Who is that? What is it?"

And I shove her bulging belly deeper into my pocket and explain,

"Oh nevermind her. She's been fed horrible things lately."

"Just the death of my uncle, and the death of my dog, and the useless medication,"

"The stress of college, and boyfriend issues,"

"But don't worry, she'll go on a diet soon."


Alex doesn't like to sit still.

He likes to starve.

He likes to exaggerate,

And bounce off the walls.

He can embarrass me,

He can be exhausting,

He can be crippling, 

But I love him anyway.


Delilah prefers the quiet.

She likes to consume.

She wants to sit in a darkened room and read.

She doesn't like to run.

She likes to be by herself.

She likes to whisper sad stories in my ear of the past.

She comforts me with her silence,

And I love her.


No matter how many times I buy new pants with bigger pockets, 

And unstitch them to add a few more inches, 

Nothing is big enough. 

They grow heavier by my side.

Some days Alex is heavier than Delilah,

Some days it's opposite.

I often walk lopsided due to the extra weight.


I don't know if they'll ever go away.

I don't know if someday they'll stop growing.

I don't know where I end and they begin.

But I have devils in my pocket.

And for now, they're here to stay.


So Mother,

Can't you see my extra weight?

Can't you see that I can't care for these children all by myself?

Can't you see that these babies who I protect, are killing me?

I need your help mother. 

I need you to see me.

Don't let me become one of your devils too.

This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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