Bottle Service

To Be your first born girl

I should most definitely mean the world

To be your first born child

You should be there for longer than just a while

To be the one who gave you the title “mom”

It should be apparent as a “parent”

That when I need you when I ask

You don’t push me off

and drift away so fast.

I need you forever

No matter what we go through

Our relationship should only get better.

Don’t tell me about my siblings

And how they felt, and what you did

Must have slipped your mind

That I basically was second to raising those kids.

Now I need you here for me

But you’re leaving

Using every excuse

While bringing up old shit from 2003.

But it’s whatever

… I guess

Like you said, “I’ll get over it”

Yea, you got better things to do

Trying to give me money

To brush off our issues

They’re not going nowhere

Neither am I

I just hope you understand

How much I’m hurt

How much I’ve cried

Before you reach


Thee end of your time.



What do you say to her when she’s crying at night

Hoping and wishing for a better life Not even a rich full life just one where she can be in her mother’s presence every night

Wondering why her mom gave her away to this place where she’s unable to escape and have to suffer from another not her mother whom she’ll rather here it from instead of hearing it from a person telling her she belongs in the slum ain’t gonna be nothin but what her mother is and collect her sins whole her mother no longer listens.

She now only says why you trying to start an argument don’t want to deal with this shit. Thirteen praying for both parents to come back and hold her close or at least make an attempt to never let her go, but they don’t. 

They won’t. 

She cries at night

She yells and scream

Asking God for a plea

Just bring them back to me

Why must you cause suffering 

What did I do 

Keep the materialistic things,

All I want is 


The one who gave birth.

The one who suppose to nurture. 

Yet you leave me here to live your life for the next five years missing out on mine as I sit here and cry. Wondering why? What did I do? Why do you no longer want us two? 

She’s through.