She screams without her cigarettes,
She cries without her "man toy."
She complains about never having a job.
You know my mother sounds like a teenager.
I can't help but to wonder if this is freaky Friday.
We've switched minds, I guess.
She enjoys saying I don't want anyone happy.
she lives to complain about her phone.
I don't get my mother.
After the divorce she seems different.
I miss her old self...
The one without cigarettes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem