Memories

She wouldn’t wake up.
The memory hits me 
Like it does every day
I listen to them talk and complain about their
“Wretched” mothers and wonder
What’s it like to have a mother?
I’d give anything to know,
At least for them to know how lucky they are.
And I remember she wouldn’t sit up
I dream of a stuffing machine for
Someone told me she was
Cut open and stuffed
It doesn't make sense how
Still at seventeen I wonder
What happened to my mother?
My memories are blurry 
She doesn’t even smile in my dreams anymore
I wonder if she'd be proud of me
If she’d approve
Of what I’ve become 
All what I’ve seen
All that I’ve done
I used to think
Maybe one day she’d come back
And still at seventeen I hope
Maybe one day she’ll come back
She wouldn’t wake up
Not even to say good-bye…