By: Chloe Basch

My Outspoken Mother


She gave me fear.

She gave me hate.

She eyed me with disgust.

She gave me strength.


The fire escaped her lungs

And the flood absconded with her brain.

She resides

Withered away,

A novel amongst stories.

She fell off the shelf,

She snapped.

The ink that was once forced onto the paper,

That yearned to paint the world a different color;

Instead her words painted the limited pages.


Her spine shatters

Her pages wrinkle.

Her cover fractures,

And her story is forgotten.



Her story told the truth

And that is why she died.

We cannot know the truth,

For then the world would not be poverty stricken.

The world would not be




If there were more stories like her.


They did it

They ripped her pages

Burnt her cover.

They silenced what couldn’t be heard.

They killed the spark of fire left

Because that spark caused a conflagration.


The fire consumed libraries

Because they told lies.

It spread to schools

And buried the ashes.

Because they told lies.

She didn’t fall.

She didn’t burn.

Her story wasn’t forgotten.


Forgotten like mine

Like my father’s

Like my sister’s.


Her infamous truth did not overpower the lies that are enforced.

It did not flood every library

Every school;

But it killed everything that made me fit in.

Everything that made me the same


Chloe Basch,11, NY,NY USA