She cries downstairs so Mommy can hear,

Her sobs, she says she has enough.

Dents in her fingers where wedding rings sat...



Shut up, shut UP, you don't have enough.

Not enough money, not enough anything,

Except socks,

With holes in the toes.

Vrooooo- SLAM!

A gunshot noise when that door closes, emphasizing anger.

All Mommy's fault, because,

After all,

She IS trying.

She tries and she tries, but she says this all the time.

Simply solved:

She buys too much, she spends her dough.


After all,

It IS Mommy's fault.

Forgiveness grows on trees,

At least here it does.

But I don't know anymore.

I just don't know.

The End

12 comments about this poem Feed