A call from many a women to their mothers To healing, to forgiveness; how to not be a “tragedy of your experiences”; how to get it back I am here tomorrow, gone today I am equal, yet still not free I left in search of more though much is here I am in a garden of spirits In need of the art your work makes, as is my fate Last I remember my soul was being hauled into a grand hall A dilemma not to be shared, I revealed without much thought Months later, as though you knew, I would fall So much is here but I have left in search of more My heart yearns for that one missed call Mother I write only what I recall When he beat you, slapped you, cursed your ways, your taste, and the food you make, you got on your knees and crawled He would sleep with other women, use your money, drink his tail ends off, and you surprisingly kept true to yours I watched, they watched, and as he got more possessive, with time you fought Eventually after many near attempts of...
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