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Saïda Boūzazy Aug 2020
She is a star
I like her smile
She is the sun
Every morning, she shine
She is the moon  
I like her lights shinning at night
Mom your my moon and my star
Mom you're my moon
Ever since I could talk,
I have only ever given you gifts with my words -
you were my first, after all.
I never told you all the hateful things burning my tongue,
even though your own words made me want to scream
"I HATE you mummy!"
I never did it,
because I knew that it would hurt you more than your words hurt me.

I can remember curling up on your lap,
watching bad TV in the living room,
warm and safe and silly.
And every now and then,
when I thought you were feeling down,
I would wrap my tiny arms around you and say,
"mummy, I love you."
because I knew what I could mean to feel a bit of love every now and again.

'But, mummy, why did I have to grow up?'

I know that things got hard.
I know that a lot of it was my fault -
if not all of it -
but, mummy,
you don't have to be so **** mean.

I know that you were stressed,
and that I was depressed,
and that our family was still clearing the headache from the last SCREAMING match,
but why couldn't you just let me finish my - ?
... sentence.
I was going to say 'sentence', but you cut me off.
Why wont you just listen to your daughter when she says she needs you?
Why, mummy, is it what no matter how many times I say,
"mummy, I love you",
all you hear is,
"mummy, I hate you!"?

Tell me, mummy,
if you are really so wise,
who's fault is it that I cant just say,
"mummy, l love you" any more?
Who's fault is it that, now,
all I seem to say,
all I seem to cry is;
"mummy, I love you, but..."
for the last couple of years, my relationship with my mother has been somewhat rocky; as my mental health deteriorated we started to have more and more arguments, and this only resulted in more problems and worse arguments. I wrote this after an argument we have just had (09/05/2018) about insomnia and how I am coping with it.
I hope that in the future I will be able to look back at this and learn.
OVC Sep 2016
I am sad today
It is not from love
But my family
What could they be doing?
Without me being there?
There they are, far away,
And I here, so lonely
I want to cry, I cry in silence

My dear mother, how could she be doing?
My siblings, what could they be fighting over?
I don't want them to think of me
Or that they miss me
I only want their company and warmness

The bread is soaked in coffee
And we spend time together
Till we part away to dream

A *** of water is boiled
With some rice
We add cinnamon, milk and sugar
When everything is ready we wet the bread in it
And we all spend time together on the sweet morning
And from there we part ways until convening later in the day or night
To be a family again.

That is why I am sad,
I sleep and wake
The night and day
And it's only me
There is no rice,
No tea or coffee
Or the warmness of my family

I become saddened
Originally written in Spanish.
Feel free to correct my grammar and comment on the poem.
Oh, the *** of water thing is for a hot drink called atole, which is consumed early in the morning, late at night or in chilly days.
Thank you!
Amelia Pearl Sep 2015
I fell today and my leg has a bruise,
But I don't need to say this to you.
Not like you care.

I woke up earlier than usual today.
But you knowing this has no use anyway.
Not like you care.

I was there for you when they weren't.
Yeah telling you this hurts.
But it's not like you care.

Give me extra pills to borrow.
And I won't be here tomorrow.
Not like you care.

— The End —