Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I sat on the table, looking at her eyebrows furrowed, protests and grief comes out, like daggers flying right out of her mouth. Each swallow, I felt it somewhat stuck to my throat, as I listen to her incessant rants, speaking badly of him, just because it hurts. I couldn't help but wonder, did she really love him, the way I thought she would or did she just do it, because even after all these years she only thought she should.
0
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
Broken Home: Sunday's with my mum
I sat on the table, looking at her eyebrows furrowed, protests and grief comes out, like daggers flying right out of her mouth. Each swallow, I felt it somewhat stuck to my throat, as I listen to her incessant rants, speaking badly of him, just because it hurts. I couldn't help but wonder, did she really love him, the way I thought she would or did she just do it, because even after all these years she only thought she should.
scarletm
Written by
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem