Deona Skidmore

Child

You raised me,
So I hope you know what I mean when I say I don't want to talk about what might happen.
You raised me,
Taught me to be strong, even when my foundations are crumbling,
Especially when my foundations were crumbling

An ailing woman who had already raised her children
but still took care of me like I was your own.
Raised me like I was my mother's sister,
and I walk out of your hospital rooms,
willing to let you think I don't care rather than cry and let you know

You taught me to be stronger than to let that show.
But, you've gotta understand,
my weakness and tour strength,
they go hand-in-hand

Worst comes to worst,
I'm going to walk out of that hospital before I cry
Worst come to worst,
You taught me how to survive if you were to die.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Poem Edited: Tuesday, January 17, 2012

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