Mommy's Little Martyr

Mommy's Little Martyr

A Poem by Sam

Should she be chastised
For leaving us behind?
Throwing in the towel,
Commiting a foul.

She stood at the pulpit
Virtuous and pure
And grew up mad,
Insincere, depression's w***e.
She doesn't scare me anymore.

The fresh start that
Broke his heart,
Twenty odd years over and out,
She reckons we're close,
I grow morose.

She thought everyone was talking about her.
She really wasn't that interesting.
Guilt and prozac
Keep her ticking,
Pantomime panic attacks,
She's not coming back.

At twenty two
They're not my glue.
 

© 2009 Sam


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That sounds like my childhood. My mother was always return home when we sleep. She bring always some strange man with her. It's was very disturbing and I feel like whole world turn into the hell. Yes we eventually can grown up and make poem like this.But still inside of me are still that old wounds what they don't heal but just more start to rot into my soul.

Posted 5 Months Ago


So personal and touching, thanks for sharing.

Posted 9 Years Ago



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Added on May 19, 2009
Last Updated on May 19, 2009

Author

Sam
Sam

UK, United Kingdom



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