Ode to Motherhood

My dear.

(No--that won't do.)

My beloved dearest.

(A little better, but not quite.)

My beloved sanctuary in all the heavens and angels and saints singing alleluia in chorus to your name chimed in the whispering winds of the sky's deepest blues and fanciest purples.

Hello to you.

(--Much better--.)

I've a limited time to tell you things directly,
but one shot is all I need.
After all, you left without saying "I love you" with your fake smile.
So I didn't think that highly of you,
I'm terribly sorry to say.

Well, I'm stupid.

I don't understand the meaning of life because I'm a stupid teenager.
And I don't understand your fake smile.
But if you loved me too,
couldn't you have just..

Cried?

And cried you did, until you died.
Died 'til the ends of all eternity, I'm sad to say.

Haven't you ever heard that medicine can't heal your problems with your grandma?

Oh, and he left them in the toolbox again.
Oh, and she left the food in the trashcan again.
Oh, and I drove you insane again.

(Don't want to touch upon your nerves, I might add.)

The point is.

Well. (Huh, you were always the blunt one.)

I can say "I love you" a million times until you'd buy me everything I asked for.
Give me all the chores you can possibly recite--I'll fix up the yard, too. The neighbor's yard, even.
And can you say one more time to God why you want a new kitchen more than your own daughter?

Bubbling miscommunication and sorry satisfaction.
(Forgive my jealousy.)

Smile with your eyes open, at least.

Only then will I suffer your Coup de grace.

Signed,
the Undersigned.