Mother I cannot count on both of my hands
The number of times that I came to you
Asking for you to quiet my fears but instead you
Stole my words
Mother the number of tears I've cried
Is most likely still less than
The number of times I've come to you
With a problem or a worry and you
Made it about you
But Mother I remember when I told you
That I could not take this life any more
And you told me it was just a phase
And you left me to drown in the darkness
Alone
And Mother I recall clearly the day
When Father threatened to turn me
From house and home and you
Just stood there
By his side in silent agreement
And I guess that's the day where
The family house stopped being home
And you stopped being Mom
You might not have noticed it
I've called you many versions of mom
In varying languages
Because you're still a mom
But you're no longer mine
God knows how I wish you were because I miss my Mom
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC
Mother I cannot count on both of my hands
The number of times that I came to you
Asking for you to quiet my fears but instead you
Stole my words
Mother the number of tears I've cried
Is most likely still less than
The number of times I've come to you
With a problem or a worry and you
Made it about you
But Mother I remember when I told you
That I could not take this life any more
And you told me it was just a phase
And you left me to drown in the darkness
Alone
And Mother I recall clearly the day
When Father threatened to turn me
From house and home and you
Just stood there
By his side in silent agreement
And I guess that's the day where
The family house stopped being home
And you stopped being Mom
You might not have noticed it
I've called you many versions of mom
In varying languages
Because you're still a mom
But you're no longer mine
God knows how I wish you were because I miss my Mom
Request permission to use this poem