my mom was my best friend
I could tell her
anything
in confidence, no matter what
I could cry to her when my heart was broken
I could celebrate a new promotion
I could scream in anger and she'd sit
listening
soaking it all in
but each hiccup
and as each of her eyelids began to droop
those were signals of the conversation coming to an end
because she'd be too drunk to remember.
YOU ARE READING
wilting
Poetryjust a couple poems I started working on, figured I might as well let you know I'm not dead and I do still exist
