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High Critique » critics are stupid they need to go look in the mirror and critique that ( my mother took joy in being a critique more like a irrational raging psychopath) this poem is one of many about that evil woman
Critics are stupid they need to go look in the mirror and critique that! ( my mother took joy in being a critique... more like a irrational raging psychopath) this poem is one of many about that evil woman
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grew up in a house where warmth never stayed,
Where love was a stranger and joy felt afraid.
A mother whose face held a permanent frown,
A storm cloud of anger that never calmed down.
Her voice was a weapon, her words cut like stone,
Control was her language, and hurt was her throne.
She took all the air from the room when she came,
And left in its place heavy blankets of shame.
Her selfishness echoed in everything done,
The wounds she created still weigh a ton.
But though her shadow stretches wide and long,
My spirit is healing—growing steady and strong.
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