Why can't they just shut up—
for once—
and listen?

Why am I always the one
expected to hear,
to nod,
to stay quiet,
when they don’t even see
what I’m going through?

Why can’t they ask
what I feel like—
just once?

Why can’t they think about me
for once?
Why can’t they see
I’m dying a little
every day?

Every time I try to speak,
they brush it off
like it’s nothing—
like I’m nothing.

And it makes me feel like ****.
Makes me scared
to open my mouth again.
Makes me regret
ever opening up at all.

Because the truth is—
they never listened.
They never heard me.
They never even tried.

And it’s because
they don't gave a **** about me.
Maybe they never did.

I don’t get it—
how people run to their parents
when life gets hard.
How they’re met with open arms,
soft voices, safety.

I used to dream of that.
Of running to mine,
of hiding behind them like a child—
because I was a child.

I wanted to cry in their arms,
to fall apart
and be held together.
But I never could.

There was no softness there.
No arms to catch me,
only the weight of silence,
the sharp edge of being too much.

So I ran.
Not toward them,
but away—
as far as I could
just to find peace.

Strict parents have obedient children?
Actually no they have children who
Don't feel safe in their own home
Who flinch at loud noises
Who get scared when someone gets too close
Who scream when someone appears randomly
Who shriek when someone tries to touch them
Who go numb in arguments
Who will stare at you when you shout
Who dare to live even in distress
Who will stay awake all night
Who spend their life trying to be the best
Who are ignored unlike the rest
Abandoned , shattered ,
Stressed , always anxious......

An early bird..up to do her job all over again
In another way anyways..

Her hope glimmers
Parent struggling to pay rents  
The best she can do is work
Kids here, work there
She sorts

Hard work
Hope and care personified
She’s a jewel 💎

Someone once told me " A woman who gives birth doesn't make her your mother. It's the nights they spend caring about you, looking out for you, giving you a roof to live under."
My mom REALLY lacked that.

It hurts so bad to sit back and think about all the times we had spent together, laughter filling the room but in reality it was just a face. A mask.
A mask who hid the woman that birthed me. A mask that hid the fact that maybe you shoudnt have had me if you lacked what it takes to BE a mother.

Yeah you bought me fun toys at the dollar store, told me to play video games if i was bored, but you didn't protect me.
You didn't protect me from the shouting and slamming between you and him.
You didn't protect me when you crashed into those bricks.
You didn't protect me when I was beneath the bed hearing glass smash.
You didn't protect me mom.
You just didn't.
Now you face the consequences of your actions and maybe, just maybe you'll regret having made such dumb, ignorant mistakes.

Everyone has parents.
They always mean well right.
Or maybe they weren’t taught to fight.
Because no one ever taught then right.
Through all the aggression and ego.
their younger selves never had room to show.
And the chance to have love to expand.
And without them listening to understand…
It’s a strange way for them to plan.
The cries are too low for them to fear.
So where is the relationship left to go from here?
Slowly fading away through every tear.

you noticed that his room was becoming messy.
"lazy."
you noticed that he had stopped showering.
"disgusting."
you noticed that he had started talking less.
"he's just going through a phase."

but you never noticed how his short sleeves turned into baggy hoodies.
you never noticed that he had stopped eating.
you never noticed that the happy little boy you used to have was leaving.

you never noticed it was getting bad
until it was almost too late