My Mother Was

She tried.

I don’t know if that means anything the way that she says trying doesn’t matter if you don’t accomplish it.

I have nowhere else to look.

We argue and misunderstand. To hope for more would be asking for less.

Every time I look up I feel that I have not done anything, but I tried.

My father started to try and I love him for it, but he has not accomplished.

My mother started to wither and I loved her for trying, but she didn’t see me.

I have accomplished becoming tired and



This poem is about: 
My family


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