The Mother Child
She's 46
but like a baby she clings
so obsessed with feeling wanted
she was never ment to be a mother
She's 15
takes herself so seriously
Has to be the mature one
has to pretend things are okay
She rarely laughs
rarely smiles
Oh, The mother child
At night she curls in a ball
clawing, clinging to her dreams
She dreams of laughter, fun, and smiles
She dreams of screaming and running for miles
But thats all they are
Because when she wakes
her mother lyes waiting, pleading
for the little mother child.
poem by Kelsi Brockway
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
