We all knew she needed help.But none of us knew how.And none of us could swallow our pride and just ask her what she needed.I don’t know why.Maybe we were too ashamed we didn’t know how to approach our own mother.So we let the years slip unhappily past us and hoped we would never inherit the misery embedded in her soul.But I did.And I didn’t know how to say it aloud. And I still don’t.
Stacy Morris, Notes to Self
poet, poetry, poetry-quotes