Poems n Stuff

Mother

her hair like granite, streaked with grey

tied tightly in a bun behind her,

so that it would not get in the way

as she struck us.

her nails, like yellow shards of glass,

scratched as she grabbed and flung us.

her teeth, haphazardly lined up like drunken men

clinked as her foul words slipped through them.

my clothes of a beggar, stained, ripped,

stretched from when she would lift us.

my ears were bells, ringing, droning,

she howled louder than the wind during a storm.

she punished us, berated us,

treated us like the dirt she thought we were.

her heart, a cold and dusty stone,

was no longer capable of warmth.

she was supposed to love us, supposed to hold us,

but she felt burdened instead.

she made us feel like unloved orphans,

mangy deserted strays.

perhaps this life was too much for her,

maybe she missed her younger days.

her life now devoted, from such a young age,

and no-one had taught her to care for another,

another, younger than her, her children.

no-one had taught my mother to be sane.