Broken pieces

Mornings

When a jug of light is poured on my room,
I slide out of bed and head downstairs
To make myself breakfast.

When I was younger,
Mornings were the best part.
There would be a post it note from mum on the counter,
Usually telling me that she loved me
And that she would come back soon.
My breakfast would be layed out
And I would feel all grown up;
Making breakfast alone.

A month later, the notes were just
Hurried squiggles and never mentioned
Coming back again.
My breakfast wouldn't be layed out
And my hope faded with
                              every morning.

I still played 'spot the difference'
Every morning
To see what moved,
                              What stayed.

I used to search for notes and gifts-
But now I know better.

I do what I need to do
and I keep my mouth
                                  Shut.

A/N: guys I'm going to try and update daily because all of this is pre-written. Like none of this is new content :)