Sometimes I wonder
when I'll stop being a table
tired of people weighing me down;
beginning to croak with strain
no matter how strong my legs are
I find it harder to support myself

Continuously, every day
I feel just a bit flatter

Life may have dealt a bad hand
Don't forget you can make a stand

Home.
Is surrounded
by the
paintings
on the walls
Judging,
Fleeting,
and
Trapping.

To Her too big heart,
For Her, she is no spare part

Always taking care of others
Adopting those before her own need
She is the most gentle of all mothers
This mother has never shown any greed

To Her too big heart,
Within Her, her soul defines art

Like a light ray hitting a mirror
washing everyone with color
making their thoughts more clearer;
perhaps our darkness a bit smaller

To Her too big heart,
Love Her, she wanted a restart

Worry for her well-being
that is all she may ask for
time is beating and aging
she quickly becomes sore

To Her too big heart,
Help Her, before she comes apart

Acting happy for anyone's sake
Though as days pass by,
her body begins to ache
she knew not why, she began to cry

To Her too big heart,
Praise Her, when she is hurt

She may count on God
though she is already giving up
somewhere in her life, it became flawed
and began filling herself up with a coffee cup

From Me, your second daughter,
your sister's daughter, neighborhood child,
and your family's family.

Crosses on the windows
Why must you divide the view?
The outside world is not divided into sections
It is instead, one giant pane

Being objectified by humanity
It's future ***** and unclear
People may be hired to clean you,
but the major issues are stained

Beyond recognition, so filthy
I wonder if we will ever
gaze upon a clean and open
window ever again