Mother Of May

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 19, 2018

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Submitted: September 19, 2018



The month of May is filled with sunny afternoons working in the garden.

The month of May brings the rained on flowers from April into blossom.

The month of May is owned by the Gemini and Taurus.

The month of May is a fresh start with a warm-up spring chorus.

I am told it is proper to show affection on the day dedicated to others,

Make that call, send a bouquet, tell her you love her; after all she is still your mother.

I was a child of the heart, or so she would say. Chosen to adopt, but not to adapt

The abused behavior inflicted on this child who winces every time you attack.

Shouting with spite, declaring I never did anything for you,

The trouble is you’re blinded by your own selfish views.

I faked my smile, I covered my scars; I hid my problems so you wouldn’t lecture me.

This is why I choose not to talk to a parent who blatantly ignored my mental instabilities.

In the month of May you set those expectations

However, we all know the favorite will still earn all gratification.

In the month of May I refuse to send flowers to my mother, or make that call,

In the month of May I acknowledge her mistakes are the reasons for my greatest downfall.

In the month of May is my Brothers birthday that is often over looked,

The day is hers to shine in the sun, this day is already booked.

The early month of May it is reminiscing in mistakes of my past,

Now spring forward to the middle-end and the future holds a Gemini outcast.

The end of spring begins to flourish into an early summer June

An infant born late in May was most opportune,

For now an entire month is dedicated to my past of misfortunes.

An entire month dedicated to the appropriate apportions

Of my soul that surrendered the child of May,

I had my reasons, and the choice was mine to make.

I don’t regret anything, I made the ultimate decision.

No I was not being selfish, yes I had thought this out with careful precision.

So stop! Stop wasting your time passing your convictions,

Stop pretending to care; don’t try to all of a sudden show some interest.

Mother of May, you may celebrate this humble occasion,

But I, I have never been part of that equation.

The month of May you never cease to voice your opinion

Of how I was made for one purpose, to bear children, and you make me out to be the villain.

The month of May is dedicated to others,

Don’t guilt me now when May rolls around, for I am not, nor will I ever be a Mother.

© Copyright 2019 Rambles of a Poethead. All rights reserved.

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