It's Grieving Time, So Have A Plate
Even before my birth, I met people that hated me,
for my heart
and I'm pretty sure that the one I call mother, never wanted me
to be born alive.
I was as big as a bug, when my father first hit me,
through my mother's soft belly,
with arms and legs, and sometimes even with a bat,
when he was really drunk.
'But alcohol, is not an excuse, you monster! '
Was I such a big burden, for your arms to hold,
Or should I better name you killer?
My memories say, that she was always crying,
in the night,
and sometimes in the day too.
The only time I saw her smile, towards me
is when she laid me, on my back, amongst the stray cats
to dig for a bit of food, in a dumpster,
half empty and half full,
with the unwanted belongings of men.
My crib, I never imagined it would resemble so much to a dumpster.
Please stop, it's a sin to shedd so many tears,
in front of your child.
Mom, I love you, for giving me a heart and your blood,
I love you for the crumb of dreams,
that you placed under my pillow
before your disappearance into the deep grave.
I love you.
I won't draw hate on my skin anymore.
I love you.
You made it live... my heart.
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