I never was the type to long for much, as I was born poor.
Into a house and not a home;
Into arms without a pulse.
Her embrace was hostile.
The love of a mother should be so brilliant.
Without, her daughters became fragile.
Her tongue was a whip that she beat us with all day.
The monster in her head didn't allow for nurturing to take place.
Now I long for every touch to fill the void she left behind.
It is expanding with every passing day.
My problem's cannot be cured, for I have never had a Mother's love.