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You were a mean spirited woman most of my life.
Mean and rude, that was how you spoke all the time.
You checked our stove three or four times before you would leave.
There was always criticism and blame you had to give.
Keep your hand away from the burner, you said.
Why? My head tilted towards you.
You'll burn your hand and that's what hell will feel like.
I wanted to slam my hand down on that red hot burner so fast.
When I was hot headed teen, I hated you.
I think you hated me too.
You little bitch, I believe I was called once.
As you got older, I started to grow up.
You weren't as mean in old age.
And then the call came.
You weren't going to make it.
The last words you ever said to me were I love you, I love you, I love you.
The less of the mean spirited old woman I remember.
Because I think of all the times you would have to run your pick through your hair and put on your lipstick.
Just for the grocery store and a must for church.
Your huge extravagant ear rings hanging from your ears.
I wish more people talked about this at your memorial.
They only talked about their regrets and wishes, selfish notions.
My feet didn't move when I tried to stand up.
There needed to be someone who stood and said you weren't always that woman.
About the Creator
Rabbit
I see the world a little differently than most. Even at a young age I was writing down what I saw but never sharing it with a soul until now. I'm choosing love over fear.
Comments (2)
This is such a sad, reflective poem. I can understand why it was hard to write. Hope you're okay now.
I know this was hard to write but I hope writing it made you feel better. Sending you lots of love and hugs ❤️