Is it normal for your mother to slap you again and again and pick up your things and hit you with them over and over?
Is it normal for your hands to be up in defense, still, while sitting there taking it?
Am I crazy yet?
My mother called me, lovingly, "that."
She would not call me by my name.
I saw hatred reflected in her eyes,
And I felt pity for such an angry soul.
But the damage cannot be undone and I cannot take the back and forth anymore.
I can't do it; I don't have the hope in a better tomorrow like I used to.
I think my heart is broken.
The feeling is too familiar to be mistaken, but it hurts worse when you haven't felt it in a while.
Take it from the top then, yeah?
