A tale of Mommy-Broken,
Her open wound oozed infectious words that should not have been spoken,

Mommy-Broken’s gone mad; she lost her husband but behaves like her children didn’t lose their dad,
Screams at the top of her lungs because the kids are so “bad,”

Mommy-Broken do you like how I sing? “I’m watching my soaps and can’t hear a ******’ thing!”

Mommy-Broken watch me shoot. “You better clean your room before you start on that ******’ hoop!”

Mommy-Broken why don’t you protect me,
Your ‘ol man repeatedly hits me and out of our home you kick me?

Chopped liver comes in second place.

To be honest, your poem I have not yet read,
I am trapped in my own head instead,

Please do not get me misunderstood,
Because I believe you are better at writing if not just as good,

Perhaps my introverted behavior
causes me to keep my eyes on my own papers,

I’m rather embarrassed and hoped no one would notice,
That I am what someone might call a conceited poet.