I wrote a poem for my mom but she didn't read it.
I receited it to my father but he couldn't hear it because he was talking louder.
Then I showed it so my sister whose nose was so high in the air she couldn't see it.
I wrote a poem about to memories I tried to hard to forget but it didn't change them.
Writing to acheive closure only ends in reopening the old wounds.
And even when my desperate words fly off the page I was too proud to cry out for the help I was asking for.
The words in my poem only speak to me.