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122 · Dec 2018
Wine glasses
Sara M Dec 2018
At night my sister and I
Stared at those plastic stars
That have been plastered on our ceiling
Since we were young
Wishing that the warmth of our love
Was enough
And she didn't have to look for more
In the wine glasses filled to the brim
Coming home late at night
Screaming knives into my heart
Taring me down into the little sparkle
She claimed to see in her eye
But now I just wasn't as bright
They say drunk words
Are sober thoughts
So maybe that's why it hurts so bad
Or maybe its because
Your parents are supposed to love you
And when they don't
Can anyone really?
This is a poem about my experience with my mom's alcoholism.

— The End —