mother

you seem almost disappointed

now i have grown hair

and left your breast

 

mother

at times you look at me

as one eyes a disappointing windfall

its grey, milky paste still lingering in the mouth

 

mother

is it that you can no longer protect me

or that i can no longer protect you

from life and its unending troubles

 

mother

you said i was not made for this world

but the more time i spend living

the happier that makes me

 

because who would want to be made

for a world such as this

mother?