Mom’s spaghetti.

Weak knees, she’s my frailty

She takes control over me

Like the chinese in the West Philippine Sea

I can’t seem to repress my property

I get so uneasy

This pain in my chest

It lingers

My head’s bowed down

I need to hide more

Lower, lower I go

Here she comes

I need to tie my laces quick

I need to conceal myself

Like makeup I need to cover myself up

But this time,

I need to make it down,

Down to the ground

I need to cover myself under

But weak knees,

She’s got me.

I am wrapped in her arms—boundless

Under her languid reverie

Tied up

Twisted

Comfortably.

I have no intentions of freeing.