Amidst my pain, I'm a machine
A vessel for everyone's endless whine
A call the mother makes, her voice so clear
Monique's illness, her own despair
She pours it all our without a care
My agony cast aside like usual
As I'd my suffering is but a ride
I'm a dispenser of sympathy
A shoulder to cry on endlessly
But where can I find my own release
In this one-sided exchange, I find no peace
Her words flow freely like a rivers tide
But mine are pushed aside
I'm but a vessel, a tool to be used
My own needs and feelings utterly refused
Oh mother, why are you so selfish to not hear my scream
The pain in my voice, that I carry deep inside
I'm not a machine, I'm flesh and bone
With feelings that you seem to disown
So here I am, a HUMAN VENDING MACHINE
Dispensing empathy
I've started writing as it is the only way I feel. The pressure that I am under because of the "happy" daughter and used a vending machine. Trying to find my voice to stand up to those who have continued to hurt me with silence and abandonment that these two people have done.
