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Poem: George St.

George St.


I get up,

muddled dirt on my kneecaps

caked, with blood and stones


I pick myself up

just like before

staring at the wrought iron fence, beyond the brick wall,


Is there more to this than these cement squares?

Lined up in perfect unison.


Why were they that close to the wall?


I always wondered



I drive by that house now

A little girl standing there

Looking at the Hubba Bubba bubblegum


That pink container, broken on the ground

Nostalgia? I do not know. I am alone.


A used band aid stuck to pavement

It lost its purpose a long time ago.


She turns to me and says,

“Does she come back?”


I replied,



Her figure faded.

Like a shadow over time,


I drove away

And yet I am still there.


I was really touched by Anna McCormack’s poem Mother and wanted to shed light on those of us who don’t have loving mothers or a mother at all and how that affects us at an early age.

So, here’s a link on how a negative motherly experiences affect our childhood and growing up, but being aware of it can help prevent negative emotions going into those teenage years.


From someone without a mother, cherish her while you still have her~

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