Mother

My mothers tone is nothing like home,

other women is far more kind than she lets on,

If mothers are nurturing, why are her hands so cold,

if P is for patient then her parents were never home.

I’ve seen other daughters fed with cat food

But I’ve never been fed except under the moon

Oh where you are, does it feel like home

than in my own where mistakes are met with a moan

I love that she has chosen me, yet still I know

My fathers home has more for me than a watching drone.

My wish is to never see her go,

A mother such as this is clueless without a frown,

Yet when I walk away she’s the first to reach out,

As though attached by a string, my mother knows me most.