My mother

Linda is her name,
I had her picture in a frame,
I blame her everyday,
Because she didn't stay.
She left us,
When we was younger,
I was only thirteen,
She was still mean.
I just turned fifteen,
She still says,
The same ole thing,
She made us oh! So mad.
She said,
She would always love us,
See I say,
She said she couldn't stay.

inside I cry
for what once was
no rhyme no reason
no why because

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.