Mother


You hold my hand when I am so young,
but you let go along the way and
I never realized, I thought you loved me, but that
was all a lie.
I use to hold you close to my heart,
but each time I try you push me away.
I want to fly, but you won't let me;
you want me to crawl, be your little girl.
Me-A doll with string on my back and you the
puppetmaster,
the unspeakable memories of pain in my heart,
the tears still run like the creek today.
I hide my face in a mask with a smile,
I don't know who I am anymore?
Who am I? I don't want you next to my name
anymore.
They say you're suppose to be caring, loving,
and making me free, yet you laugh at me with
happiness in your eyes from my pain,
"what have you become?Is this because of ME?"
I raise my hand so you could pick me up,
but you push me down even more, into an even
dipper hole.
I want you to be my wings,
but you rip them off my back not giving me time to
sew them back.
MY tears make a puddle and
I see myself stare back at me, what have I become?

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This Poems Story

Love this crazy, awful, sometimes wonderful life that's too short to waste and I'll never let anyone stop my carefree ways. My name is Ayesha which means "women", going perfectly along with my feminine ways and I am 14 years old. I am a girl from a small world who is crazy, bossy, loveable, carefree and creative in her own special way. I love to dance. Even though I am not that good, draw, paint with my younger brother, but especially write my pen's ink out when I am sad. I grew up most of my life in the country stealing flowers from my next door neighbor jumping on haystacks and sleeping to my grandmothers stories.