A poem for my mom

Learn more about other poetry terms

Mom, Graduation is months away And soon after I’ll be all on my own. I know in heart you’ll always be there for me, No matter where I go, whether it be hours or days away.  
Dear Mom,   I know you hate your life And where you’ve ended up That even when you smile Your heart aches to cry
Dear Lost but Not Forgotten, My ears cease to listen to your voice There is no sound of your talking because there is no you left to speak My eyes cease to look at your bodily figure
Eighteen years I've been protected under your wing I'm thankful I've got to fly over seas Been places I get to say i've seen I'm thankful I am loved Because you love me I've got to furfill my dreams 
Thanks for toleranting my "Phases" my changes my rotations my edits  my-  well thanks for tolerating my "discoveries" my understanding of what I've always known my new definition of love
i will walk with you pulling your oxygen tank with one hand holding your hand with the other because i love you. i will drain the fluid from your lungs twice a week
You've taken care of me from the start, even before I had a beating heart. Singing me to sleep and tucking me in bed, placing your sweet kisses upon my head. You gave me baths and healed my wounds,
Heart heavy, shoulders drooped, I walk through the grey streets, on my way to you. I dragged my feet through the door, and you turn to me, arms as warm and ready as the cup of tea you made me, your love a kaleidoscope of color.  
The one who lovesThe one who holds The one who's heart is made of goldPrecious to us as diamonds to the world
You're  still pretty in the rain like sunflowers in the field Even when your petals droop, yellow you are still
My mother taught me everything. 
I'm sorry I'm sorry that I have ever cursed at you  I'm sorry that I have made you cry  I'm sorry for every black eye you gave me  I'm sorry for every time I said "Please, Stop, No." 
I sit on the curb late at night pondering all the wrong I have done.  Like the time I cheated on my chemistry quiz in the eleventh grade.  Or when I put my boyfriend before my life long friends. 
  I seem to have this strange obsession with Fire It burns It melts things It destroys It creates It is The Epitome of My mother My mother smokes newports
On Sunday mornings the slips of light that shine through 
Subscribe to A poem for my mom