My Mother

The year my mother was born was 1964,
Lyndon B. Johnson was president,
Civil Rights was at the core
Of everything we desired.
Yet she wouldn’t know.
She was just born in 1964,
She didn’t know where to go.
Parents are just a word,
They don’t really know
How to break away from themselves.
How to live vicariously through others.
It is important.
It is a dire need.
It is disproportionately distributed
So long as we just breed.
Hear my cries today, oh Mother!
Hear my abysmal screams.
I am on the brink of being laid to waste,
Oh Mother!
Can’t you see.

Can’t you see.

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