The ghost of a child without ever being dead
I mourn myself even with my fingertips to my heart
I feel it beating even though it feels I've been gone
When do I get to be the child I never got to be?
I held you tightly when it should have been me
I tipped it all down the sink at seven o'clock in the morning
But what about me?
I cried and I sobbed as you tried to hold me too late
I pushed and I shoved and now you have no one to hold you with an embrace
You scream and you cry and I can hear it even now
'But what about me?'
Oh, mother.
©keirabeech
K