Lil' drunk,
bloody arm..
doesnt matter..

she came at me with a stick..
no tears.. not like it used to be..
I used to beg for forgiveness..
I used to be down on my knees..
I held up my arms.. for her to hit..
it bleeds..

I wonder why.. in my mind i think- why not come at me with a knife..
You can end both misery..

I used to appreciate all the things my ma did.
from the hugs, to the advice..
I remember.. when I was 11.. the start of 6 grade..
she'd cook me breakfast everyday..
talking story wit me as she does..

I cant say I dont miss it..
even blood related, will leave you behind..

only another reason to get drunk and high.

Dislocated Heart

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/another-reason/