Grasped by silence, my voice is naut,
For my whole life, I have fought,
With struggles that had came to be,
For lies filled my mothers pleas.
The start of the story, she is.
A sad, lonely begginning, she gives,
From 1 to 3 years old I was,
In a bad life, my memories fuzz.
As I was young, innocent to her,
But there are things I know for sure.
She never loved me, not at all.
My mom, I watched her start to fall;
Plummeting to her addiction,
She struggled for one prescription,
Her company nonexistent,
Her body was so insistent
On taking the drugs, so she took them.
The ripped cloth, not to be hemmed.
My memories of her are blank.
She was not my mom, to be frank.
When I lived with her, she failed,
Fearing expectations, she bailed.
She had indulged herself in drugs,
Cold, no warmth of my mothers hug.
For she slept all day, I'm alone,
Cause' my sister, the cloth is sown.
She took care of me, that's not right.
Everyday, she struggled to fight.
The decision of school or me,
But these struggles she did not flee.
She prioritized me, not school,
Not thinking of herself, fool.
From 1 to 3 years old, alone,
But that cloth, my heart, is not sown.
YOU ARE READING
Screaming Silence
PoetryThis is a true poem of a 15 year old written through her words. Inscribed in your tiny screen is her feelings, her screams for being noticed, for being loved. She cries as you read these words, breaking down, hoping that maybe you can see past her c...
