to my mother,
i am a garbage bag of old clothes
a messy, dusty room
that was empty for two years
a vacant bed...
an echo
in a big yellow house
that she never owned
alone
until now...
to my mother
i am a memory
and that's where
she likes to keep me
a pretty little cardboard box
of old notes
that she ties a ribbon around.
mother,
this garbage bag
of clothes
that i had to replace
two years ago
when you made me and daddy leave
makes me cry
because i am not the only one
who is a bag of old clothes
no longer needed
i have learned
to no longer need you,
too
and it isn't
fair.
i don't care if this poem is any good.