As much as I try not to be
I am my mother.
I'm an exact replica,
From personality to looks.
I used to want to be her
When I was little.
Maybe I tried a little to hard to be her before I realized all the wrong she does.
She is pained.
She's been through things I've never even imagined going through.
So yes, I feel bad for her.
But she didn't give birth to children,
More so gave birth to her pain.
A distraction?
I'm not sure.
All I know is,
Generational trama continued into her kids.
Maybe that's why my childhood is a foggy memory I can't seem to remember even through all the light I try to shine through.
YOU ARE READING
My Poetry
PoetryMost of this is sad, any TW will be at the start of them I'm a 17 y/o just wanting to share some of my poetry with people other than my friends :] (Also feel free to comment any tips and how I could improve on my writing!)
