Mother, Mama, Mutter, Okaasan, Mor, Mere, Uma, Ana, Madre, Mami...
I pronounce all of these words the same:
She is not someone I'm proud of,
Not someone I like.
She is not someone I'd die for,
Not someone I need.
She is not someone blessed with kindness,
Not someone open-minded.
She is not pretty, funny or smart.
Not caring, not loving, not reasonable.
She is irrational, close-minded,
Children, on principal, do not enjoy her presence.
She does not give out sweets on Halloween,
Or toys on Christmas.
She expects to recieve, but does not give.
She does not sacrifice.
She does not create, she buys.
She is a hard worker
For causes that reward her in return,
For causes that she likes.
Maybe once upon a time,
She was a Princess, wishing for Prince Charming
Instead, engaged to the Master of the House.
She has not had an easy life,
But she has never searched for meaning,
She has never sought to rise again from the ashes.
Her biologocial purpose has been served,
And so, she is done.
But I have been cursed to love her still,
And never forget,
And never forgive.
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