She made sure to tell me twice. A fact I was aware of by the simple look in her hollowed eyes. But, Instead of being disappointed I, Just walked away and cried over my exhaustion. My exhaustion of putting up with abuse I could’ve certainly avoided by getting lost in, Empty pages rather than rolling papers I now scoff at…
Because, I never really cared about Mom’s outlook on who I am, Nor if she cared for my existence as a broken man, Only God can fix. A broken man who’s not ashamed of the wear and tear from facing odds I’d lift, Over to the even side of a fence I put between us while she’d yell and hiss, As I dress up in a smile she couldn’t find no matter how many drinks and hits, Of smoke I was able to walk away from… Smoke I’d crawl through, For a clear view, Of what I truly love!
A journal where I’d lay to waste every ounce of her hate into cosmic amounts of dust…
m3l0dicverse 
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