Mama. We all go to hell.

Mother, you make me cry.
Your pathetic attempts at parenthood make me pity you.
And want to defend you
at the same time.

What is it? Do I feel guilt?
Guilt for causing you hardship
For being a sensitive, intuitive child,
Who knew what was right and who was wrong?

For Scaring you with Childish,
Innocent Truth?

You never knew how to handle me,
And now I am beyond handling.
Because I am an adult now,
And On My Own,

You,
Dear Mother,
Are left

Alone.