There's Momma in the hospital bed 

holding me for the first time, 

and to the right of her is a long line 

covered with tape for prettiness. 

She didn't take you out of my memory 

you did when you left me, 

left me behind to wonder what I did wrong 

leaving only a ripped photograph behind. 

I wonder sometimes if you didn't tear away, 

if you grabbed onto my hand, 

scared to let your princess go, 

and if you were to just stay with me at least, 

My childhood memories of you 

wouldn't have been torn out of my head 

and it would fill me with happiness, 

but I will forever have this torn photograph.