PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My child,

my flesh and blood,

full of my hopes and dreams

for better than what

plagues me.



Now,

I have failed

the course of 'motherhood.'



I've passed along

my defective genes

and now sit,

heart-shattered.



My son,

my youngest boy,

just barely a teen,

must bear the cross

I have carved for him,

and all I want to do,

is crucify myself upon it.