Little Mama

Hey Little Mama, I see you crying on the bed.

I see the open Xanax bottle sitting on the nightstand.

I can feel the pain you are trying to drown with the tiny white bars.

Sadness and agony pour out of your gorgeous amber eyes,

like a desert waterfall squeezing out its last drop.

Look at me, little mama.

I want to tell you that I love you.

Surprised, you'll ask me why.

You have no money and no aspirations, it's true.

Your family does everything for you and this eats you up inside over time,

like termites eating at aging moldy wood.

You have a daughter that bounces around from relative to relative to survive.

This is the blade that cuts the deepest in your heart.

You treat the wounds with drugs and sex.

So you'll tell me I shouldn't love you because you have no value.

Let hold you for a minute, Little Mama.

Look into my eyes.

If you can't feel any light right now,

embrace the light emanating from my grey-blue iris.

You have value, you just have to find it.

We can find it together, if you'd like.

If you get lost in the forest of your self-hatred, call out for me.

I'll look for you and get you out.

Let me dry your eyes, Little Mama.

Allow me to wipe the tears from your pale silky cheeks.

Take my hand, Little Mama.

It'll be alright.