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I'm Sorry I Can Never Say This To Your Face. You Should Be Too.

by Amy Wustrin

Momma, we've got problems,
You and I
And I know you don't believe it
If it doesn't come from the mouth of Christ
And translate in your ears exactly as I say it
But you've got to listen to me

Get your nose out of the Bible
And stop manipulating His Holy Word
To paint *me* as the problem.
God hates when you do that

I was an innocent child
And you were a child, too
But lost and leading me to get lost with you
We're older now
And you call it water under a burning bridge
But I call it my living Hell
Heavy-hearted, tossing, turning
Bearly able to focus on getting out of bed
Sad, lonely, broken

And still you push me
Push my bottons
Depend on me entirely too much
You wear me out

Mamma, you're going to lose me soon
And I promise you won't like it
I might move halfway across the globe
And never call or write you
I might swallow a handful
Of expired perscription painkillers
And finally find peace in Hell
But I can't hold onto you any longer

I lost you
When you won me
In a custody battle you fought to the death
To prove that my happiness was worth sacraficing
For $100 a week
Until the day I turn 22

Mamma, we're fading
Don't you see it?
Broken promises and bad examples
Are taking their toll after all.
I'm not as resiliant as you hoped I'd be
I have succumbed to the bitterness and resentment I've been fighting
I am poisoned by it.
I've lost you.
I'm losing me.

Mamma, you can't save me now
So loosen your grip
Finger by finger
You've got to let me go
You've got to let me go
I have to be my own Mamma now

09/27/2004

Author's Note: I hate her. And I hate this. And when it's hate that's driving you, you've gotta find a different driver.

Posted on 09/27/2004
Copyright © 2020 Amy Wustrin

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