I wrong her when I say she shut me down
the days I tried to tell her how I felt.
What hurt was her disdain – that sour frown
and “Can it!” never made my passion melt.
But now I see distinction – there were times
when raving I would shout and storm her ear,
and she’d say “That’s okay – these are no crimes –
just ventilate – it’s me, your mother, here.”
And then I wonder why she loathed me calm
upset, but ranting tantrum she withstood.
My verses all encountered upraised palm,
but uncontrolled emotion rang as good?
Succeeding storms was my apology,
but never did I void the poetry…