Mother
I'm done being your quiet girl. I'm tired of biting my tongue. Filled with rage looking into your eyes, Looking at what I will become. I do not want your broken parts, your fear. I want to always be your good girl, The one that you showed your scars. But you're sick, mommy dearest, And I can't fix you anymore. I have my own garden to tend to now, Filled with scars and doubts. You see, you planted these for me love, And now I must weed them out.

















