Every day, you ruin my life a little bit more,
Every day, is becoming more and more of a chore.
Every day, you take your problems out on me,
Every day, I just wish I could run away and be free.
Every day, you drink more than the last,
Every day, you drink and fast.
Every day, you kill yourself a little more,
Every day, is becoming a harder chore.
She blames me for everything when she’s depressed,
She makes my life one big mess.
I have no freedom to do what I like,
I’m not even allowed to fight for what’s right.
She’s an oppressive dictator, who orders me around,
She’s suffocating me with her eerie sounds.
I take care of her, like a mother should a child,
Yet I’m the one in the wrong, even with her own self denial.
She makes my life a living hell,
And she truly believes I’m under her spell.
I want to remove the chains in which I’m tied,
I want to get out; run; hide.
She makes me feel bad about myself,
Yet she needs, herself, to seek professional help.
I truly believe she has a mental health issue,
Maybe that’s why I put up with the things I do.
She tells everyone that we’re close,
And many people believe her; a lot; most.
However, some people can see through her,
Unfortunately those people, she’s able to filter.
At my age, the only stress should be boys and exams,
But all my stress is down to her alcoholic hands.
I watch the empty bottles of wine fill up the bin,
3...4...5... and again and again.
She’s very selfish; who cares about my feelings?
She treats me like an object; not a human being.
Her own family want nothing to do with her,
Yet she thinks it’s their problem, not hers.
As long as she’s happy, it doesn’t matter about the rest of us,
I wish I had someone to cheer me up, give me a hug.
I have many roles in this household: mum, dad, child and carer too,
It’s too much for me to handle, too much for me to do.
She says I’m lazy but I do far more than she,
I really want her to just leave me be.
The only peace I get is when I’m at college,
But even there I think about that alcoholic.
If ever I mention it to her, she has a major go,
There is no getting through to her, just no!
I thought they were meant to be kind,
The ones who would always ease your mind.
But my mother brings me nothing but pain;
She ruins, rots and destroys my brain.
Comments about this poem (Mother by Arabella M Picken )
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