Growing

You won’t let me touch you

and you’re still pink from the day that I held you

and how you’ve grown

my absence as a mother I’ve mourned

I’m cold

from the death of friendships that never kept warm

You won’t let me speak

and I just want to be able to give you the best opportunity

your cord is cut but you’re still my love

and the blood that flows was once my own

I’m cold

from the death of the relationships with my parents, I never owned

and no one will admit it but its the stress of the childhood that did it

you can speak a thousand languages

but that won’t make her close

and as a teenager I once was,

I know the strength you need to have

before you break.

 

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