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Mother

poet
StoryTeller
Lost Thinker
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Joined 13th Sep 2017
Forum Posts: 4

you should love me

unresponsive love,
from the one who is supposed to love me.

mom,
why am I not good enough?
what have I done to you?
why?

when I was younger you loved me,
tucked me in,
told me you were proud of me,
you treated me kindly.

now that I am older you detest me,
insult me,
belittle me,
treat me as a burden.

shouldn't you love me?
shouldn't you at least try?
make an effort?
something?

you should love me.
please.




Written by StoryTeller
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poet
ThaSeductress
Twisted Dreamer
Jamaica
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Joined 23rd Dec 2016
Forum Posts: 44

Dear mother

It's me
Born of sin
Blinded by "him"
My father
Named by my step mother
Rejected by my sisters
My esteem festers
Used by everyone
Just to be saved by someone
Anyone...
Conception
But was murdered by deception
Hit rock bottom
This I couldn't fathom
Rose Out of the ashes
Covering my bruises and slashes
Continued my journey
And in its midst I'm still tardy.

Written by ThaSeductress
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poet
NimmieAmee
Fire of Insight
10awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 3rd Sep 2012
Forum Posts: 204

Dear Mom

Mother
you have never once told me I was beautiful;
is it that I look too much like my father,
with His skin tone
and His curly hair?

Mother
you are the one who taught me to be ashamed
of how I look, of how I speak,
of who I am
so different from those around me.

Mother?
Do you think you still deserve to be called that
after all the harsh words and pain,
all the sleepless nights spent wondering
why you love my siblings but not me?

Mother.
That all important word,
it still holds such power over me,
awakens all the feelings of worthlessness
and shame.

Mother
despite everything you've put me through
and all these years of trying to rebuild,
my greatest desire
is to hear you say you love me.

I hate you.
Written by NimmieAmee
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poet
Ahavati
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 1963

Rock-Paper-Scissors

I.    
I can compose no verse for you,          
even 38 years after you’ve gone.    
       
Father’s was easy, dropped from          
my mind as the IV into his collapsed          
vein the rainy night his spirit passed.        
And, even though you suffered as          
much as he physically, maybe more –          
I don’t remember that part of you.        
         
I remember the cruelty of your          
efforts to dig out tiny bits of belief          
hidden in the dirty fingernail beds          
of a dreaming child, drawing blood  
to ensure you’d gone deep enough  
to get them while no one looked.        
         
II.          
When remembering the 18 years        
I was with you, or, you with me,          
there was no tender touch;          
I remember the hard bite of your          
teeth and slicing words  
meant to undermine any          
stability and jealousy of affection          
afforded me by a father you          
demanded I hate  
because of your personal wants.  
         
Yet, there must be something,        
some form of seed waiting to        
manifest growth, some dormant        
pod ready to face the light, stick        
its head out of the ground        
taste rain unfiltered by mud        
and bloom into its destiny.          
         
III.        
For 38 years I have searched  
as an archaeologist for your verse;        
the one that would honor your          
life as my father’s did.  
 
I have found no clay tablet  
with an inscription bearing clues;          
I’ve discovered no remnant          
of your love or our bond.          
         
I did, however, uncover bone          
and a rock different from the rest         
so saved it. Took it home to clean.            
 
It split in half when dropped,  
revealing a multifaceted heart  
constantly changing in light.          
         
As I watched it spin, I realized          
a verse isn’t what you’d really want.          
 
What you’d really want is for me        
to understand you did the best          
you could according to our contract,        
and loved the only way you knew          
in the light of your short life.            
         
I learned from this to love more        
than the ability to love knew;
to hold onto that gift no matter what.
 
But, the ability to be loved          
was lost somewhere in the shadows        
of development, of self-defense          
and an anti-trust amendment          
instantly activated by dishonesty;         
 
lost somewhere in the fact that        
I never hated you, nor thought to        
in my rock-paper-scissors choice.       
         
IV.        
I am not ashamed of being half.          
 
Of the halves I’d choose to love        
than be loved as a narcissist          
with nothing to give.  
 
Nor do I regret the loss despite          
the pain of absence.  
We cannot love who we do not know
and we cannot know who is          
afraid to tell the truth for fear          
of not being loved for themselves.  
         
That’s one belief that was deep,        
too deep to scrape or dig out.        
         
The door is closing on many things, Mother; I must admit I’m glad.        
I’m tired of looking  
and ready to get on with life.  
Though I wish things could be different.  
 
So, I’ll pack my tools in the aged shed  
of our history, dig no more for you.  
I’ll forgo the verse; instead, grant your memory
understanding and forgiveness
that it rest in peace.
        
And, in honor of your life, believe  
in love despite any circumstance.          
         
V.        
When your great-grandson asks          
(as he does when angry with a friend  
or family member) how can I not “hate”  
a “bad meanie-head”?          
 
I smile and gently say, “Oh Sweetie…        
         
“Your great-grandmother taught me        
to overcome that when I was your age.”        
~    
 
Written by Ahavati
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poet
drone
Dangerous Mind
Greece
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Joined 3rd Sep 2011
Forum Posts: 479

Mother
When i look
though these bars
of your disign
when i feel the sun            
through the window blinds
when i smell
your perfume  
when you open the door
i bow my head
and cry
a little more

poet
zosogirl7
Chelley Bean
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 10th Oct 2017
Forum Posts: 179

Mother Dear?

Mother Dear?

Rock myself to sleep at night
Mother, was not the type
Little girl, just learning to walk
Following my mother, trying to mock
A slap to the face, right in the kisser
She said none of that, little sister
Mother Dear? Why so cruel?
Mother and daughter, should not duel
Men would wander in and out
Attention to me, she was not all about
Jealous of a child, such a twisted mind
Mother's love, I could not find
Ignore me she did, without a quip
When I was born, she gave me my pink slip
Girl without a mother, a mental death wish
My monthly gift, I was not told
What kind of mother, heartless and cold
To my demeanor, she was outright mean
No shoulder to cry on, nowhere to lean
As a young girl, starting to bloom
She laid down, the hammer of doom
Tender age of only fifteen
Time for this girl to finally take flight

Chelley Bean Poetess
Written by zosogirl7 (Chelley Bean)
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poet
highlyfunctional
Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 5th Jan 2017
Forum Posts: 2

My mother peeled potatoes the same way. I have to use a peeler. What a great memory.

Btw I read your Anne Sexton quote and got excited until I realized it wasn’t the Ann Sexton that sang:
You know the love you've been getting
I'm gonna give it to somebody new
And you're gonna miss me
Oh baby when you're gone

poet
ClearmindedVillain
Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 29th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 40

Mom’s Pinball Machine

Long days started at the wake of school.
A mind was taken over by the location of the afternoon.
Another bus ride awaited but not home.
Saw these people everyday but still never knew them.
Quiet the boy stood at the machine for hours at a time.
At times there was a path to pace.
Independent young at times activities sparked interest.
Never grasped the concept of art but participated anyways.
Fear of swimming challenged him young.
Did it.
Soaked from the water of the pool he’d return to that pinball machine to wait.
Was there a better place socially safer?
Impatiently he’d peer at the watch he had.
At times time ran over then expected but then came his Mom to pick him up.
Written by ClearmindedVillain
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poet
wallyroo92
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 655

Sacrifice

When I was five years old my mother left me…
With my grandmother so she could come to the land of opportunity,
And though some would think this was abandonment,
It was really a sacrifice she made to obtain a better life for me.
In those formative years when I was raised by my grandmother,
Who was small in size but larger than life with her personality,
Grandma taught me the meaning of respect and the ways of the Lord,
I called her my mother too out of sheer love and propriety.
And for four years my mother worked her fingers to the bone,
Thousands of miles away she provided for me,
And though I didn’t know it back then,
She suffered a loneliness that a mother suffers when away from her family.
When I was nine years old I reunited with my mother,
And I swear it was one of the few times I saw tears in her eyes,
It was like a new relationship after some years,
Still I didn’t know about her sacrifice.
And though my mother didn’t have much of a formal education,
She taught me about hard work, savings and finance,
She taught me about faith, ethics and morals,
She was always strong, resilient and leaving nothing to chance.
When I was eighteen years old and I moved into my college dorm,
I swear there were tears in my mother’s eyes,
And though I didn’t understand it back then,
She was proud of me, but I think it was because of that old sacrifice.
When I was nearly thirty years old and I moved back in with mom,
After my relationship had failed and I was a single father,
She took me in with open arms and unconditional love,
Comforting and counseling now that she was a grandmother.
And as I grew older learning to be a responsible parent myself,
I began to understand more of the sacrifices my mother had made,
I appreciated what grandma and mom had done for me,
As I see the same in my sisters and the choices they make.
When my daughters left home I saw my wife cry,
The cycle comes full circle for all women at a certain time,
When all children spread their wings and fly away,
Then I wondered about all the times I never saw my mother cry.
Now that I’m older, I understand that sacrifice.

poet
Billy_Snagg
Snaggy
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
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Joined 14th Apr 2018
Forum Posts: 6

Mother

Dear Mother,

It is long overdue but I'm sorry I took you for granted all these years,
It's just that I didn't know any different, that's all.
I was always cared for, valued and protected in your love,

But I just took it for granted, that's all.

You are the most amazing woman in the world.
You are the chairwoman of the family,
The glue that binds us together,
The centre of our universe, in fact!

You treated us equally, always in your care.
If ever I needed rescuing when feeling alone,
I could depend on you to carry me home.
Never did I feel more or less valued than anyone else.

I want to say 'I LOVE YOU!' again, before it's too late.
I want to carve these words in stone, but hope you already know,
That I don't need to because they are etched on my heart, Mother.

I'm sorry if I ever made you feel bad,
It's just that I get angry over silly things sometimes.
Thank you for accepting me as I am,
Even though I don't have to thank you for that.

Sorry for taking you for granted, Mother.

It is not just the family you care for either.
You care about your friends, neighbours and the whole damn world.
Your heart is so full of love, I wish I could be more like you,
You've helped me climb seemingly impossible mountains new.

I don't want to be saying this at your funeral Mother,
Because I want to say it now...
'I am proud to be able to call you my Mother.'

Again, I took you for granted but...

I LOVE YOU
. x

poet
cabcool
Thought Provoker
Jamaica
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Joined 27th Feb 2014
Forum Posts: 56

mountains i have climbed (For Mama, on the 105th Anniversary of her Birth)

seeing i have seen
hearing i have heard
should i close my eyes this day
speak not a frowning word

hearing i have heard
feeling i have felt
voices now are whispered songs
that all my heartaches melt

feeling i have felt
lessons i have learnt
pain is not my strangest friend
‘tis oft that i've been burnt

lessons i have learnt
secrets i have kept
patience holds my trembling hand
nor wisdom ever slept

secrets i have kept
knowledge i have shared
mountains i have climbed in hope
to dream and fight and dare

knowledge i have shared
children i have weaned
memories i have prized that
juv’nile hearts have never seen

children i have weaned
teardrops i have dried
loved ones i have buried young
the pain of love defied

teardrops i have dried
comforts i have given
storms i've weathered on a path
oft steep and thunder riven

comforts i have given
praise i have received
but all glory be to God
in whom i have believed…

…for seeing i have seen
and hearing i have heard
and in my heart i have believed
Christ is the Living Word.

©2018 January 31
by Clyve A. Bowen
Written by cabcool
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poet
David_Macleod
David Macleod
Guardian of Shadows
United Kingdom
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Joined 5th Nov 2014
Forum Posts: 1083

MUM

Looking inside
The box
I see
A grey haired
old woman
Looking back
at me

Looking serene, appearing demure
A look that hides the truth for sure
No more spirits, no more demons
No more shouting, no more screamings
Your peace, at last, finally assured
Your mental illness finally cured
I searched though all the madness
through pain, fear and sadness
of how you languished in your brain
just pretending to be insane
Insanity you chose as a means of escape

But memories still rape my mind
Off how you responded like someone blind
You knew of all the things he did
But no attempt, not even a bid
To try and save or rescue me
From all of this indecency
You are just as much to blame
Your pathetic excuses simply lame
And despite my pleading and prayers to above
You refused to show a mothers love
I’m glad and content now your dead
Another box ticked inside my head
Its only a shame it didn’t come sooner

Looking inside
The box
I see
MUM
I hear nothing
I feel nothing
Just numb
Written by David_Macleod (David Macleod)
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poet
eswaller
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 22nd Dec 2015
Forum Posts: 531

Mother-Daughter Love

Mama, I can hear your heartbeat and know it has always been
Connected to mine from day one. There is no other safer place
I would rather be than in your embrace. Your eyes have seen

Countless tears and have experienced hardships. I would trace
The hard planes of your face as a child knowing you will live
Many lives. Little did I know you would become that one face

Forever ingrained into my memory and you would never give
Us love that made us feel empty or abandoned. I never feared
I would lose your love, as it was endless. You want to forgive

Your mother for making you feel like an outcast. You cleared
Some space in your heart and did not want to make the same
Mistakes she did. You embraced me as who I am. Silly, weird,

Mysterious, beautiful, kind and loving. Like the sun you came
And never left. You are a never ending, eternal burning flame.
Written by eswaller
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poet
David_Macleod
David Macleod
Guardian of Shadows
United Kingdom
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Joined 5th Nov 2014
Forum Posts: 1083

Mother

They call it Tartan House
A dark and dreary house
An institute for the insane
for those strange in the brain
Domicidal premises
for homicidal tendencies
A prison to entomb
for those who need a padded room
they’ve got jackets with straps
to stop violent scraps
they’ve got lots and lots of drugs
they encouraging lots of hugs
groups for confessions
as therapy sessions

But Wait! - Close the Gate!

I know what you’re thinking
You haven’t been drinking
Your wondering why I am here
Its true I seem normal
Despite being informal
And having this fish in my ear

But Wait! - Close the Grate!

Despite what you’d wish
You cant see the fish
You cant even see that its swinging
You’re worried I’m mad
And maybe I’m bad
Cause you cant even hear what its singing

But Wait! - Close the Gait!

The orderly’s coming
My head needs some numbing
Medication and some of ‘the other’
I know I’m a freak
I’ll see you next week
Thanks for coming to visit me mother
Written by David_Macleod (David Macleod)
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