alcoholic mother
Learn more about other poetry terms
I hate the way my mother looks at me.
The look of the “least favorite daughter.”
Most little girls feared monsters under the bed, while I feared the ones over the bottle.
Daddy is drinking again. Mama is too.
Sister and brother, too little to understand. I'm eight, aren't I little, too?
Hard ground, river roaring as daddy is snoring.
When do we sleep in a house with a real bed?
You don't know what you're talking about.
Stop acting like you're smart.
Those statistics are all lies.
You can't trust anyone.
Stop talking to people.
You have to keep it all a secret.
