For the days I didn’t see you,

For the things you didn’t pursue,

For the days you were there but absent,

For the lack of interest in my own talents,

For the lack of attention,

For the things not mentioned,

For the pain and suffering,

For simply not mothering,

For the feeling of objection,

For the lack of protection,

For the lies and sorrows,

For the hope of tomorrow’s,

For the absence of the real you,

For the words, I’ll kill you,

For every punch and every kick,

For every choke and every spit,

For every whip and every hit,

For the tears that drenched my pillow,

As I cry out for those who love to release the tiniest bit of love to me. I wanted to see and feel of what it could be.

For simply not properly loving me,

Your baby, it is I, it is me. Never could I understand

“Why can’t she see me”?

Strictly speaking on what’s real,

The hole in my heart must be healed too.

So I must say “Mama” I forgive you.