Your Poor Mother
I'll bet rainy days are hard for your mother,
And I'll bet sunny days are hard too,
'Cause I'll bet every day she thinks of you.
As if my hurt isn't great enough,
My grief for her grows with every thought;
Between letting go and holding on, she's caught.
If I could do your mother only one favor,
I would carve my chest wide open,
And stop her in the midst of her failed coping.
I would tear out my heart and place it in her palms
Because it is in my heart that you reside,
It is there that you are still alive.
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