So I looked at my mother and asked her "I'm sorry but what do you speak?"

With a stern look in her face she said  "Your nothing to me William, you're only a disgrace."

But mother? WAIT! Mother!
Are my words special or is my self, a son special?

No son you're not special.
Your words mean bleak...
You simple minded fool.
Hate is all you seek.

Oh how cruel,
Your words spill with the old.
Repeated system of vocabulary directed at my point.
That point, a heart, one desperate, one in need.
Of a caring mother who may see something special in me.
Well mother I can write.
I can write your worries.
And hold them tight like your once told bed time stories.
But these new story's that cut so deep,
Hold demons and monsters  suffocating my heart beat.
Flip the switch you caretaker.
Press delete.
Erase me from your whittled life,
To one not carved to include me.