Anger in self-hate
slurred words mumbling
frustration
imbalanced and stumbling,
Styrofoam cups in hand,
to an orange crush sunrise,
it’s not even noon yet.
Defensive and aggressive
when I call you on your lies.
Never caring
about the tears I’ve cried.
Years, with no learning curve
Mistake after mistake,
But I learned.
After years and nights I spent wide, awake
To jailbird phone calls,
And liquid lovers,
Second chances, three and four,
I just can’t give you any more,
When still thinking you’ve done no wrong
Just a victim of life,
A perspective only your own.
Sorry for nothing,
My mother.
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