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Last Night

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You Asked Me If You Were A Good Mother

Mother you had a filthy mind.
To me you were inpertua unkind.
You had your reasons to which I was blind.
You'd married a handsome man like Father.
But I was your child.

A child believes a Mother might be sweet.
But to you I was meager, incomplete.
A reason to be annoyed or strike the cheek.
I wasn't blind, you married a cheat, like Father.
But I was your child.

You told me once others couldn't stand my looks.
So I kept to the shadows, made friends with books.
And punched the first who gave me looks.
I was not blind, you married a drunken sot, like Father.
But I was your child.

The years wore down and I began to disappear.
The children in the house lived mostly in abject fear.
And when they grew up they could never grow near.
I knew you married an unreachable man like Father.
But I was your child.

I realize as Adults we make our own happiness. I have come into my own.
My parents are both dead, and as much peace was made as could be
accomplished. I awoke with this in my head one morning. When I get
messages in a dream, I pay attention to them and write them down.
That is the only reason this is here.

Copyright February 27, 2016 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author.
Meloo Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World


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