She knows of the sensitivity that riddles me.
Even the quickest of her words I catch, and they leave my hands red.
Why mother?
Why do you spit venom at me, and weigh me down with cruelty?
You know how I nourish my sensitivity.
You know I will eat up and gnaw angrily on your words.
I try to pick out what I do not want to hear,
But I hear them anyway. You know my ears are always open.
You know I take everything to heart, why do you take advantage of that?
Why father?
Why pick a woman so bitter and cruel?
Do you not want me to be loved?
I have a wound in my chest.
And I try to fill it with her love, but she offers me none.
Where can I lay down all this guilt my mothers give me?