mom can you see the woman I've become,
hair as white as elsa's,
voice more passionate than a hug
but mother I'm sorry for my mistakes, my misdemeanors
my unholy ****, scraped off by the windshield much like the bugs.
scraping off my dead skin cells, my tired flesh, my small love
im sorry for cursing the ground that you walked.
im sorry for exasperating your love and good thoughts,
im sorry for being too strung out to give a **** what you thought
but now I hope you see, that i am all you thought I could be
that I am more than my scars, my lost loves, and my horrors
I am seventeen years old but my heart is much harder
because I have seen pain spread greater than a fire
I have seen heartache being men to their knees,
and painful memories spread like disease
my mother I'm inhibited
by self crippling doubt,
I am breathing yes,
but not quite living now.
I pull phony smiles from my lips to my eyes,
I combat the night with sparkling tears in my eyes.
you see my mother I am seventeen years old,
with a trauma like brain, dying, and cold
I might be seventeen but my weakness is ancient,
my lips are the vessels, words carried out through the nations
my dearest mother I love you so, and I am very sorry for the days my weaknesses show.