My mother’s head had been cut open, But she had felt the splitting since I was an infant Crying out from my trundle bed.
Then I was sixteen and still crying out. Let me explain; I couldn’t express that I was aching, So I’d tell them my mother was.
But no one bothered to ask me if she was alright. A friend of mine told me, frustrated That people get attention hungry When the slightest thing goes wrong.
It’s true, I needed attention. But I don’t know why the word is so hated Lurched off the tongue like lonely girls aren’t worthy of Some common human kindness.
That shut me up So I had nothing to say Save one dismissive mention No one bothered to ask me if I was alright.
The worst part is The splitting feeling didn't go away. Her pain is worse now That I am nearly an adult.
The sympathy for my mother vanished Faster than the money she spent To lie in a hospital bed, Wrapped in a paper gown. The sympathy for me was never there.