I don't know why
I still expect warm smiles.
I don't know why
I still expect civility, much less
a Hallmark motherly love.
All I know is that every time
a door slams,
a tear drops,
a hand slaps across my face,
my expectations leave me that much more broken
like
What did I do?
Why am I like this?
When will I stop fucking everything up?
How can I be enough for her?
Am I so wrong?
For expecting my mom to
I don't know...
say "hello" to me
Before she starts screaming?
The reality is
Instead of a
hug,
kiss,
inquiries of my weekend,
I am enveloped by
An offhand comment about my dad being an asshole for bringing me home early,
and I'm disrespectful for "allowing" my phone to be stolen,
and how she wears if she wasn't a good, God-fearing woman,
She'd have half a mind murder me and be done with it.
Maybe they'll put that on a hallmark card.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Teenage Poetry
PoesíaBasically, this is my journal. All of the heartbreak, stress, frustration, and confusion of being a pansexual teenage girl in a small town in Texas is presented to you in (semi) poetic form, by yours truly.
