My mom read my poem.
All she had to say
"Well that's just depressing"

My mother, the woman
Ive found cowering
in the corner of her closet
holding the gun to her tears
and begging for escape.

Depressing.

My mother, the woman
who tells me that after
30 years of marriage
she wishes she had never said yes.

Depressing.

THAT woman.
Who has the audacity to tell me
that she wishes
I had never been born.

Depressing.  

How can you expect me
to love myself,
when you can't
even love me...

Depressing.

look at the example you've set.