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Maman est morte

I pulled at every vein of mine,
Drew the blood from my own body
And I gave life to all this.
You took my umbilical cord,
Wrapped it around my throat
Looked at me, cold and said “choke”.
I gave you a lifeline,
And yet I walked through a landmine.
To me, you gave life
Nothing more and nothing less.
No home, no hope
From me, you took youth, 
Although I still hold childish joy
Like water in my hands.
My key in the lock,
Foot in the door,
I step forward.
You’re surrounded by cigarettes,
Bound to the couch,
Held down by your own pride and self-pity
The TV in front of you screaming,
Unable to stop me, leaving.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

I am absolutely stunned I have found another gem in the undiscovered works. This is top shelf poetry.

I am sorry it's taken me so long to find it, but I am only recently returned.

I love the title and the content, the language use and pacing is spot on, this is excellent work

Cheers Jayne-Chloe

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

I feel a slow anger building building building throughout this piece. I understand the burn. it seems like the anger dissipates come the close, and is replaced by pity and regret for the energy spent. I really like the flow and language usage.

*hugs, Cat

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