Momma's in the bedroom
with the door closed.
The echoes of her cries
scream
and she's no longer
holding out her hands
to catch the drops of pain
but rather,
to let them hit
her shoulder's.
She spoke to me,
"Color inside the lines, Mackenzie.
Stop laughing, Mackenzie.
Stop saying silly thinks, Mackenzie.
Stop taking risks."
Momma's in the bedroom
with the door closed.
The smoke of her stress
vaporizes from her shoulder's
and she's no longer worried
about the cost of
love.
I spoke to her,
"I hate you, mom.
Stop laughing at me.
Stop saying silly things about me.
Stop taking risks."
Momma's in the bedroom
with the door closed.