Learn more about other poetry terms

So sick of crying but more sick of you The yous who are telling me what I should and should not be feeling The yous who are telling me how I should be healing None of you know, how could you nor do I 
When I think about how I've glowed up It'll make you want to throw up If you've seen the things I've seen  And you did the things I did It'll make you wonder how I ever really growed up
I'm thankful for you, Momma,  You light up my life,  I love you like Obama, through struggle and strife,  Hey Momma, you rock. You are my rock. My socks: you rock them. Hey Momma, oh Mommy Momma
You're  still pretty in the rain like sunflowers in the field Even when your petals droop, yellow you are still
The state calls me middle class yet it is a struggle to dress like I got class don't get me wrong I look grade A in my wannabe jeans the failure of banks and our damned economy my momma wasn't affected like the rest but believe me when I say my po
The rain, the thunder the dirt and grass beneath my feet The swoosh of my hand as I shoo the fly that interrupts me as I lick the barbecue sauce off my fingers on that sunny Fourth of July
She told me we were forever.  She told me she would never leave. She even told me that we would stay together because I was tw baby with a mistaken name.
She would waddle to the kitchen for a snack while you would lie on her bladder Doctors told her she wasn't strong enough, she didn't care
  Riding for miles, Your perfect smiles,   Silent conversations, Innocent flirtations,   The hot, sunny days, They passed me in a daze,   Mindless texts, Not knowing what comes next,  
Sometimes we disagree, But that’s okay. To be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re always there, You’ve helped me grow, And you always know what to say,
When you took at your phone and asked me to smile And tell you I loved you, I just waved you off I didn't notice the suitcase on the floor Or the sadness in your face.  
You claim I got no sense of mind but I can't tell you nothing, men are not owed an explanation when one is striving for horizons,   I've been reaching beyond rainbows somewhere out beyond the rain,
Hands grip grass As tiny bugs play with long brown strands Dew dampens jeans underneath Dragging her deep into dirt
Subscribe to Momma