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The Demons Of Defeat
As I fight with my mom, I am beat,
dead tired from the anxiety and anger.
I know I will lose the argument.
But still, I continue.
We yell and scream, trying to make a point.
As we banter back and forth,
our faces turn red with undeniable anger,
the pounding in my head intensifying.
The air is tense as someone enters the room,
but we continue, both determined to win.
Determined to prove the other wrong.
Our voices grow louder with each rebuttal,
and the vain in my forehead rises to the surface.
The sound vibrates off the walls,
so loud, you can hear us down the street.
Then suddenly, the fight is over.
The tension dies down and we become irritable.
I feel a pang of guilt hit me,
for treating her with such disrespect.
I announce my apologies with sincerity,
and retreat to my room.
Defeated, feeling useless and low.