Mother

Writing

I used to love mother’s day; I used to want it to be a great day. Now I just feel like a complete asshole.
I was always unlucky, and smart-mouthed. I have no visions. Sometimes I wonder if I was meant to be raised by a gang of wolves, I treat myself terrible, sometimes I like to blame it on the fact that I never had a father to teach me the rights from wrongs, maybe the fact that I never gave my grandfather a chance, now every time my phone plays that melody and I see that name, I pretend I am in a world of my own, because I can’t stand to see the image of his face, wrinkles, a frown, a soft melancholy voice.
Echoes of love, it brings tears to my eyes, these eyes haven’t cried since my last breakdown. I hoped that I wouldn’t ruin another good day for someone else; I like to call myself a demon, I make wrong decisions, I cause so many problems, I am meant to be unborn. For the first time in my life so far, I feel like I should just run away from home and do something reckless and be a nuisance.
But I’m scared, my mind is telling me to be scared, but my body is ready to run.
I know I am smart, I know I am stupid, I’ve fallen in love with girls who don’t even know I exist, I know that I have made many decisions only a man should make, I shouldn’t choose to never talk to my grandfather again.
I’m Satan’s son, my grandmother raised me a single parent, and my brother abandoned me here. I don’t have anyone to talk to but myself, so I destroyed my mind. I destroyed it because I wanted something beautiful to destroy.
Ever wondered what the world would be like if you weren’t born?
It wouldn’t be different, your friends wouldn’t know you, and your mother didn’t go through 9 months of carrying you and hours of intense faces, sweat heavy, blood.
The world doesn’t give a damn about anyone, so run away, turn and scream.
My diary is in my head, every day I write down important thoughts. I’m losing my touch; the pen is losing its ink. The pen is slowing down; the pages aren’t turning so I’m starting to not care anymore. What if I just ran away now?
Would I make you proud then mother?
Would you finally come back?
I keep forgetting you can’t, you’ve been gone for 10 years now, and yet I still forget.
I used to have a good way with words, but now I’ve lost my dictionary on this day.
Just tear drops on my keyboard

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