Story To A Mother

 

I wanna meet ya mother.
And I wanna tell her how much I loved ya.

I wanna tell her all the sweet things you said to me.
I wanna tell her about the first we’ve shared.
And I wanna tell her about the love we made.
I wanna share those stories about how you told me you love me, just to get in my pants.
 

Oh, when I said I wanna meet ya mother.

I meant to say I wanna meet ya mother.

Only to tell ha about the son that she raised is a motherfucka.
 

I  wanna tell her how you took my heart and thru it away like I was just another
I  wanna tell while I made of had you on the weekdays another girl had you on the weekends.
I wanna tell her about the pain you put me thru
 

I wanna tell her about the night I almost lost my life when you started beating my face like I was the wall.
I wanna tell her about the bruises you left on my skin.
 

I wanna tell her about that night

When I told you i was leaving and never coming back.

How you got upset and wrapped your hands around my neck.

Left me gasping for air

The feeling of your skin under my fingernails, from scratching your hands trying to get you to release me from your trap.

The feeling of my body lifting up high.

My legs shaking  kicking for dear life.
The feeling of not being able to breath.
 

I could even mention the look on your face

The look of the boy she raised.

 

The man who sits there in that chair across from the judge in this courthouse today.

In front of the parents of the woman you abused.  
Sitting next to all theses lawyers.

With your mother sitting next to the judge.

Looking in your eyes hoping the sons she raised didn’t abuse this woman.
 

See when I say I wanna meet ya mother

I wanna tell her how she could be a grandmother

I wanna tell her she raised motherfucka.
And not to pledge for her sons innocents in the courthouse today.

Because I wanna tell ya mother…

But

Shit.

Wait.

We six feet under.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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