I Held Out My Injured Hand

There's a little girl

Who is heartbroken

A girl who has grown

With the knowledge that

She doesn't deserve

A mother's love.

But this silly little girl

Never stops trying

To chase for

Your approval

Your validation

Or heck,

Just a split section

Of your attention.

Hey Ma,

She calls out to you

Just this morning

39 years of knowing you,

She tried, quietly,

To show you the smallest burn mark on her thumb.

But no,

There you were,

Massasing your own arms,

Twirling your own curls,

Unaware of the presence

Barely a few centimetres away from you.

She just continued to stare at you,

For what felt like eternity

Probably was just a whole good minute

Of you just ignoring her glance,

Her hand that she stretched out

Her thumb that she put

Near your line of sight.

And when you finally did look,

You touched her hand.

"WHAT?!"

You barked. Annoyed.

She pushed her thumb forward.

It hurts, Ma.

You grabbed her hand,

Flipped it around

Still not processing what she's trying to tell you.

Then you cringe.

Oh, your cringe.

And pushed her hand away.

Once again,

Breaking

That little girl inside.

So the big girl

Did what she knew how to do

Smiled at your lack of attention

Get up

And left home for the day.

Carrying on with her work

Without saying goodbye to you.

Not like you would've returned it anyway.