The Breeder
Location
What gets you ticking you ask?
What gets me ticking is the breeder
The sounds of her own regrets
The impressions she places down upon me, stained upon my chest
What gets me going is the hypocrisy she preaches
I fall deep into her trap
She writhers and lies, most of the time until what I believe in, is off track
The ignorance! The expectancies! She screams for domination.
Though I pled and at times begged
I never gave her the satisfaction
I tell myself
She’ll never see me cry
She’ll never see my weakness
Yet in a moment of doubt, whom do I go to for guidance?
The incision of my mind
Dyed with colors of doubt
I cannot picture what was previously known, without a stop, question or sound
She reaps without sewing
Steals looks without hesitance
Questions explanations
Leaves a piece of herself with each passing residence
She dwindles herself down to the core
Only to realize what was there before
Holds her patience in a finger rung
And her intuition under her tongue
I suffocate when she’s near and I panic when she’s afar
The toxic words she spreads
I hear them echo by the car
Everyone knows
I’m the daughter of the witch
Maybe she’ll be just like her mother…
That manipulative b*tch
What gets me ticking is when they judge
When they hear our words, but we’re still shunned
With ashes unscattered
A vase holds the old man
Half of me, part heart of she
He lies on our mantle
Guides me through fear
I talk to him just like he’s still here.
I see her think of him
I hear his name when she cries
And I know all the rules I must, and must not abide
I mustn’t touch her when she weeps
I mustn’t hold her while she sleeps
For that’s the job of the man that’s deceased
That’s the job my old man keeps
She may be broken, old and unwanted
Yet she’s the way every one of my mornings should be started
What makes me sick, is to look in her eyes
And think that I’m the only one who will ever recognize
And be absolutely dumbfounded
By what will never cease to amaze
Perfection
In every mistake
My mother, who I’m proud to say I partake
In molding every single inch of crazy
Into something…revolutionary for God’s sake
What gets me ticking is they who predict
That a mother will scorn, then to the daughter it shifts
Well they’re right, because with mother whose always been insane
Came me, and I don’t give a damn who they blame
I only hope I end up just like the girl
And they can call it whatever they’d like
For the daughter of a mother whose always been in shame
Will bring Hell down on those who dare say her mother’s name