Hey Mom

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
My very first slam poem

Submitted: July 20, 2017

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Submitted: July 20, 2017



Arms stiff.

Hands shaking.

Tears falling down my face faster than Usain Bolt could ever run.

Voices in my head that scream, but remain completely silent towards others.

A painful sting on my side that I'm all too familiar with.

You'd think after 10 years I'd be used to it

I see you as this dark, mysterious creature.

You lurk around the house, just looking for someone to yell at.

You brush past everyone until you find me.

Alone by myself, causing no harm.

You rid your anger on me, God knows why.


Hey mom!

Remember me?

It's your daughter, well, stepdaughter.

We started this relationship with love and support.

Smiles and laughter.

But with one painful event,

everything changed.

Love became hate.

Support became "Hey look, you finally did something right."

Smiles become frowns.

Laughter became silent.


Hey mom!

I love how we can be in public and hug each other.

But the minute it's just you and me,

I'm lucky for you to look at me.

Your hugs turn into smacks upside my head.

Your compliments turn into constant criticism.

You're able to pick out every single thing about me that ticks you off.

My friends, my music, my clothes, my face.

My presence.

Everything I do just makes you even more mad.

I even told my friends that if I'm going to be smacked around

for everything I do,

I may as well do what I want to.

What I need to.


Hey mom!

I know I'm not that talented.

I screw up a lot of things and make everything worse.

I know I'm annoying.

All I want to do is have fun like you once told me to.

I know I'm a bother to you and that you wish I was gone.

You want me out of the house, and your life.

That way I can't ruin anything else for you.

I know I make stupid decisions.

Everyone makes mistakes but apparently that's all I do.

I'm sorry to disappoint you mom.

But I'm only a teenager.


Hey mom.

Most kids want a new car.

Or a new phone.

Girls beg for a boyfriend.

Guys beg for video games.

I beg for support.

To have the love I so desperately crave.

I want someone to be proud of me.


Proud of the hell I went through.

The hell I'm still going through.

To be proud of my small accomplishments.

The accomplishments only a few know about.


I've seen things I can't unsee.

I've hurt myself multiple times just to control the pain I feel.

I've heard multiple fights where I was drug into the middle.

Just because I existed.

I've been a scapegoat for as long as I can remember.

A scapegoat for things I can't control.

Like Dads anger, or my siblings grades. Even your marriage.

I try to make people around me happy or proud.

But I can't.

I can't even go a week without thinking I'm worthless.

I get these voices in my head that reassure me how much I screw up.


Hey mom.

I know you stopped listening years ago.

I know you'd rather yell at me then listen to what I have to say.

But when you do hear this, please know.


My depression is real.

I truly have thoughts about how much better it'd be once I'm out of your life.

The amount of hatred I put toward myself is so massive I'm surprised I can still find more.

This is a real mental issue I have.

It can’t be ignored, and it’s definitely not because I have to “grow up”.


My anxiety is real.

I get nervous just making an order at McDonalds.

Before I take a test I forget everything I'm so terrified.

I get panic attacks often for multiple reasons.

Bad days.

Big tests.

Speech meets.

You...and how mad you get, the way you get when you're mad.


My anger issues are real.

I get ticked off over the smallest things.

When I get mad enough I throw things around, I break them.

I hit things and end up hurting myself worse.

I once told someone I’m very close to about my anger, my anxiety, my depression.

They told me they can’t see me being that way.

I do my best to hide the truth.


I don't fake these things for attention.

They are real issues I have to deal with.

But they don’t make me a weak kid.

Cause believe it or not mom.

I'm stronger than you know and I will continue to get stronger.

With, or without your support.

I’ve done this for 10 years.

I can handle two more.


I'm not the girl you once knew.


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