Belle Dec 6

May 27, 1998.
It was a Thursday at 7:50 p.m.
I was one of two.
"Name her Isabella, because she came out screaming. She's loud, like her grandmother."
My sister was 10 minutes later, quiet and feeble.
Her name, Andreana.
After my father Andrew, who wasn't there. He died two months earlier.
My mom, obviously she was there. But not really.
Atleast she wasn't around.
We had Jamie, and Erika, and Ausra, and Deb.
Me and my sister had eachother, and my brother, when he felt like it. When your dads dead and your mom works full time--because that's the only way to make a living.
You're really, well you're an orphan.
I remember when my mom went on business trips,
I'd bang my head on the wall because I was so miserable,
I'd cry myself sick.
I would sleep next to my sister and we'd look at the stars, I remember we used to stay up late and wait for her to get home. She'd hold me and whisper "soon."
As I felt the tears from her eyes gather in my hair, and rub against my skin.
My mom would bring us home gifts, as if gifts could mend our broken hearts. As if gifts replaced the love and attention we weren't getting.
I got to first grade and I stole from my teacher, I hung out with the "bad girl" in class and we used to bully this boy. My mom wondered why I had anger management issues and why I would lie.
She threw me into therapy, because she couldn't solve these problems on her own.
Except when I went to therapy all I wanted to do was play with the games. I just wanted someone to play with me.
I just wanted someone to care.
My nannies cared.
But they weren't my mom.
And eventually they left.
When they left, then we had Maria.
Maria pushed me into the wall when I was having tantrums and grabbed my face, told me to "stop misbehaving!"
I hated Maria.
My mom cared. She cared a lot. Maybe that was the problem.
She got so caught up in caring and making sure we were cared for that she forgot how to love.
When all the other kids parents came to the Halloween parade, I never saw my mom. My sister and I would sit together, while everyone else would sit with there mommies and daddies. But hey atleast we had eachother.
My mom wasn't able to make it to Shoreline or state championship track meets, or award nights because she had to work. She wasn't there when I became captain of the track team.
My best friends mom gave me a hug, i closed my eyes and pretended it was mine.
She cared, but she was never there.
I still looked for her face in the crowd every time I stood at that starting line.
Most times when I didn't see it, I wanted to cry, but the few times I did, I wanted to cry even harder.

lotus Dec 5

Sometimes I believe I was born alone
that I was my only
Mother, a copyright matron
clenching my own muzzle

Until sometime maybe
a few days ago I started to believe
I was born
of shut away space,
an unannounced baby amidst the muddle

After that, just today, I swore
I'd never speak again
on birthdays, but now I wonder
whenever someone lights those candles how can I not
outweigh the room with wishes

Not sometimes but other times I believe
you died
long ago, you were my only
whispering secrets like "Whenever I read your heart I sing all the words"
but now all you do is hum
out of tune, spit me out as a fragmented presence

We've both fallen too far
towards the emptiness
at our hospital gown death beds wishing
we had Mothers
or atleast eachother

I wrote something. Wow it's been a fuckin while and I miss my Mother, capital M, hashtag mutha
Alaina Smith Nov 23

Moms are supposed to say they love you
Moms are supposed to care
Moms are supposed to make everything better

Why then
Does my mother hurt me
Why then
Does she not care if I hurt myself
Does my mother tell me I'm not the daughter she wanted

All I need is maternal love and support
But I am lacking

Poetic T Nov 16

My mother told me the other day
                             she had anal!!
And that she couldn't walk straight.

"I'm a cow girl,

She giggled as she told me this!!
I'm an adult, but hearing it off
your mother is quite a little bit of

"Ok a lot of cringe worthy glances"

She laughed as she walked off asking
if we had a soft pillow..

        "I was never using that pillow again..

what is fiction and truth???
Tommy Randell Oct 23

So, you died.
You were only a Mother after all.

It was a long time ago
And living a life without one
Hasn't been so bad.

I've watched others watch
As their Mothers grew old, grew sick
Grew angry & hateful
And watch them struggle to deal with it.

I've watched others watch
As their Mothers embarrassed them
Tried to keep them as pets
Holding onto their child to never let go.

Any two points in Life really are only two days apart,
Although in our case, 53 years, 4 months, 2 days
According to Google ... but who's counting?

We got that stuff over and done with
Didn't we?

Tommy Randell 23rd October 2017

My Mother died on June 20th 1964, I was almost 12years old but already was the man life with her made me.
Katie Oct 18

It is easy – easier – to imagine that at the first stirring of the breeze,
Everything ought to be thrown to the wind. The tides are going out
But does that mean that everything on the shore will be swept away?

When I feel the gurgle of the waves on my feet, is it feasible that
God does not intend for me to be drowned? I stand in a pool of possibility:
Root myself deeper in the sand, or surrender myself to the sea. I think

My mother worries about me, 300 miles away, because in our
Distance she senses dissonance. I am the rock face bruised by the wind –
But only because I want to be. She is the lighthouse entreating me to come in

Off the water’s edge, and join her where it is safe and light and where she can
Train her gaze on me in all my darkest days. Am I tempted? Her unblinking eye
Implores me to be honest. How far must I cast my beams for you to find me?

The spray of salt reaches my side before I can answer, and brine beats Light in this race. Storms come and go, and I watch them and hope
For the sake of my mother that when I cry, it goes unheard under
The squall. The wind and waves, unrelenting, ground me in humility.

After all, when a sea-weary sailor spots a lighthouse, does his hand
Quiver on the tiller to change his course, or does the quiet thrilling thought of home
Encompass him, comfort him, call him to stay steady ahead!

We steer clear of the lighthouse: we keep our eyes level,
Our emotions at bay, and clew our sails for the cliff,
A brooding entity rising out of the ocean, recalcitrant: resistant.

My mother keeps my flame burning from another state.
Tender stoking, stalwart tending. I stand tall not because
I know she sees me, but because I can see her doing the same,

Daring the sea to stifle her laugh, her light.

The Flower – A Tribute ©

Thank you flower for the wonderful bouquet you present to me

Thank you flower for your fragrance
That fills the air and makes me smile

Thank you flower for allowing me touch your silkiness
And to feel beauty

Thank you flower for blessing me with your array of colors

Thank you flower being there...

On my Birthday and to count the years

On Mother’s Day to thank Mom for being Mom

On Father’s Day to be with Dad

On Valentine’s Day to let my sweetheart know I love her

On my wedding day to celebrate my relationship

To celebrate my child’s birth

At so many special occasions

Even when there wasn’t a good reason

And one last thank you,
Thank you for being there when I pass on

I know you will brighten the room
Even if it is a sad moment for those left behind

Thank you flower for making me feel better
Knowing that you will be there

Andreas Simic©

suze suze Sep 10

I saw her suffer by my side;
Day by day she grew stronger;
I grew stronger on the outside,
But inside -
I grew just as weaker.

I smiled to comfort her,
And she -
To comfort me.
But inside,
Our hearts writhed in pain.

Her hair fell out-
But her eyes shined more and more.
And her lips were chapped,
But her smile , all the more pretty.
She grew beautiful with pain.

The doctor's words indicated separation was inevitable;
But still , hope nevertheless gave us hope.

Still now,
I can feel my little baby in my arms,
The way she called me "ma",
And how,  each time she did,
I felt complete.

these are just mere words
the pain of the mother can never be really portrayed
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