Mental Health

Momma, did you hear me?

If you’ve been following my posts, you’ve seen glimpses into my childhood.  I’ve tried and succeeded on raising my children better.  But I often find myself feeling guilty that I didn’t tell my mom my feelings about how she treated me before her death.  I sometimes write poetry.  And I sometimes talk to my mom out loud to get things off my chest.  This is my most recent poem.

Momma, did you hear me when I laid inside my crib?  Wanting you to hold me, but you left me there instead.

Momma did you hear me when I said that I love you?  Hoping this would be the day you said, “I love you, too.”

Momma, did you hear me when I said I did well in school?  Instead I get the criticisms of not following your rules.

Momma, did you hear me when I was crying for my dad?  You’d just got done hitting me and said that I was bad.

Momma, did you hear me when I said that I was done?  The alcohol had taken over, I wasn’t coming home.

Momma, did you hear me when I spoke into your ear?  I’ve held your hand.  You’re in the coma.  They said that you could hear.

Momma, did you hear me as I talk to you up there?  There’s so many things left unsaid.  This really isn’t fair.

Momma, did you hear me as I talk to you out loud?  I tell my children that I love them.  I hope I make you proud.

Momma, did you hear me when I tell you I forgive?  I had to let my old life go so that I can live.

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