To my beloved mother,
The one who I inherited almost all of my looks from,
The one who raised me to be stronger than every other,
Why is it that you can’t comprehend that I am not dumb?

Why do you feel the need to tell me when I am wrong,
Even though I know you’ll never believe I am right?
Your lectures are spoken to ears that think you’ve went on for too long,
Why is it that I can do everything you ask yet still get into a fight?

I am aware of the long terrible hours you work,
And I am aware of how tough that is on you, I hope you know that.
But that gives you no right to knock me down and go berserk,
And me standing up for myself does not make me a spoiled brat.

Have you even tried to fit into my size eleven shoes?
Ever even tried to picture how my day can be?
No you would rather yell and make sure I lose.
Maybe one day you take the time to look and see.

You work eight hours at a grocery store,
And I’m at school eight hours stressing over which class is next.
Don’t forget, your strong daughter also has a job she loves to the core,
But that doesn’t mean I can never be perplexed.

You add eight hours of school and another two or three of work,
And almost ten hours of responsibility a day makes me awfully tired.
So when I come home and get yelled at is quite an irk,
Yelling about my chores leaves me pretty uninspired.