I look at my mom, she disgusts me
Every morning after I look at her
She has a tendency to grow weak
She becomes more of a button on her remote every morning
Clung to her broken TV
And mirrors in our house are yellow
A fleck of dust on where the heads are supposed to be seen
Where I doubt my identity
She measures the floor to the stairs
Taking off roots of my hair
Then she echoes like a sound flown in a desert
Believe me! Wish I could hear her!
But she's more of faint jello
Soundless, fearless utterly done
Wish she could see it when I'm numb
Soundless, fearless utterly gone
And the day ends
When there's nomore need for drama
Once I tried to look at my brother
He was quiet, calm and utterly dead.........white
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem