Your daughter is a mess mama.

I sometimes wonder
why Saturday nights always,
feel lonelier than any other day
of the week, I guess, it because
its the day most people go out, mama.

its the night before Sunday, so they dance
too much, they drink too much, and maybe
laugh too much, its when most people
put the weight of their heart on a shelf,
and taste the joys of the earth-

maybe there's something
refreshing in the air of a club, maybe its
the sweat on their moving spines,
the smell of the cigarettes escaping
people's nostrils, more like that ash after
the firework has exploded in the sky.

but not me, mama.

I'm here, in your room, without you.
always without you, I guess its better
this way, because if you were here with me,
we would be throwing words at each other
like a girl throwing around clothes because,
she just can't find what she wants to wear.

if you were here, then I'd probably
would feel even more lonely than I
already do, because I never
feel loved when you're near,
I never feel wanted,
or even welcomed.

your daughter is a mess, mama.
she feels like she is considered a burden,
and not a blessing, she feels like
she's wrong all the time,
misplaced, misunderstood.

your daughter is a mess, mama.
and you don't need her,

..nobody needs her.