this poem is just about a bakeshop.
no allegories
no symbolisms
no idioms
no metaphors.

mother kneads the dough.
she does it so well.
pounding the white clay
with such masterful effort
her hands do not tire.
neither tires her arms.
neither her thighs tremble.
neither her smile
it charms.

mother had been standing there
untiringly since dawn.
and yet she does not stop.

it has been raining incessantly
ever since she woke up
and yet she does not stop.

not even a single costumer appeared
not a single knock on the door
and yet she does not stop.

daughter asked her out already
daughter asked her to close the shop

daughter always says
and with a lot of sense
watching mother work
simply is not worth
the miniscule sells

yet still she does not stop.

daughter asks mother
far too much.
she asks why mother is always smiling
she asks why mother works hard as such
she asks why mother why it was always raining

daughter asks mother
why no one is waiting at the counter?
daughter then followed
where is brother and father?
and finally daughter asks
why no one, for their shop, would bother?

to which mother just replied
"let us simply pray for better weather"

What doors are you afraid of walking through?
For fear of the family and following to come?

What did we do wrong?
I greet you good in the mornings
And wait for you to sleep by night
I ask if you've eaten, if drinking
And make sure your health's right
I kiss you when you want (need) it
And hug you even when you're sour
Sing you all these sugary nothings
Tell you you're all mine, and that
I'm all yours, even on busy noon times
You invade my mind by the second
All I think of is you, and I tell you
You tell me it's the same with you too
Make our hands touch whenever they can
Then again, all this is in a span of weeks
And by the month we were 'us'
I thought we were the happiest, I thought
And then I come again to ask -
What went wrong? What did we do wrong?
Or maybe I'm asking the wrong question
and maybe it's "What did we do right?

Any word
That was ever written
For the sake of money
Is no longer sacred

Scathing with regret
Within the I'm mind

It's in due time
That you will find
Your forward self
Looking back on history

So that at least when writing
For youself

You earn a greater
Peace of mind
In keeping with your own kind

I guess my heart spying
My eyes ask
He does not answer
The answer was found
By your heart

Oh, I'd
love to
thanks for asking