My Mom

Everyone will look at me the way my mom will see me.

My mom shines half the day,

and my own responsibility dominates the rest.

But consciously,

I can't understand anything besides the things she's taught me.

Not well, and insecure,

I am she.

I do not understand anything but these things.

Please bring me peace

when you bring me a plate.

She gives me everything,

but now I am becoming free.

Free from her culture,

free from the pressure.

Gaining,

I can breathe.

I am still crying

for mommy.

Does she still love me?

Don't be so quiet,

so silent, mom.

I can feel you

judging me...

 

Think good of me,

so I can finally feel loved by anyone.

Author's Note

I know and you know I should write more, but this is simply stated.