Mother of the year

What gives you the right.
To complain.

She askes.

What gives you the right.
To judge.

She askes.

I only asked, for permission to go.
With some friends to a movie.

And yet she yells at me.
And calls me a whore.

She, the mother of the year.
Says that I am only trouble.

She locks me up.
In a room upstairs.

And yet she calls herself.
Mother of the year.

Copyright 2007 Nyorioko.

Poetry by Nyorioko
Read 365 times
Written on 2007-08-27 at 20:16

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