Appreciation
Treacherous man, brutish and mad
Your words sear my skin, prod me, tear me still
I pacify you
As if you were the child, not I
You hate seeing me cry
Though we still find ourselves
Whining in the kitchen over
"Mother's constant witchin' "
And my languor which you've only begun to realize is
Due to nothing more
Than a lack of Appreciation
Copyright © Victoria Lucas | Year Posted 2019
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