My mother tongue

Polish as my mother tongue

It makes me wear dresses
and paint my lips red
it cringes when
I eat meat on a Friday
It makes me keep
my fridge full
For guests
And my plate half empty.
It has memories
of early Christmas
and skipping school
first kisses.
It sings.
It slips in every time
when emotions take over
Like a lover you always go back to
Plays with grammar
And the way I greet people.
One or three kisses. Only.
No shaking hands.
My polish pushes me
to get further
to get more
and it always compares
somewhere in my head
my cooking, my work,
My high heels.
It's all the fights and insecurities
while growing up
And now.
It's learning how to read
remembers all the books I have red
It is my mum's apple pie.
It's what I keep from you
When I cry at night.
Its why I change our wedding plans
For the fifth time.
It's my every day face
And all the taboos
I break.
It pronounces the s like
A sneak
It's my milky skin
And green moody eyes
It doesn't let me to turn back
when somebody honks
or whistles.
It makes boys carrying my luggage
and opening the doors
It slips in every time
when emotions take over
Like a lover you always run back to
It's worrying about losing
what's mine
And making me give away
Everything
What's mine. Indeed.
My polish is a skill
On my cv
It's a double standard for me
My friends
Never for my enemies