It's Throwback Thursday on the blog! Here's a little goody from last year!


Through Me

Mama's still breathing
But you can't say she's living
Sitting in a life boat
Stroke working against her
Stricken down by a life
Hell bent on keeping her
Pen stroke ain't as confident as it used to be
Struck down, stripped of her crown
Royal blood too rich for her arteries
There she sits on her makeshift throne
Remembering the days of old
Wondering if she's destined to spend the rest of her life alone

The days grow cold.

Or maybe it's the draft she feels
Walking around the house in her underwear
Long gone are her needs for outerwear
That's only for people who care
Or simply care to hope
She's long found the end of her rope

Mama spends her days alone
With the voices in her head
Whispering psalms of lamentation and regret
Unable to let her forget
So she erects shrines
Dedicated to the good times
When life made sense
Children understood respect
Back when she had control of her mind
And she needed to keep track of time
Cause if she wasn't careful it would fly by
Now, it stalls, just like her speech
Trickling out in spurts that no mind can quite reach
So she spends the days of her life,
Engulfed by the young and the restless
Limping through the days
Lifeless and helpless
Lost in her failures and regrets

But some days, you can still catch a glimmer in her eyes
Remnants of a time left behind
Back when she was my everything
Ain't nothing could take her down
Or steal the shine off her crown
She was a warrior
A queen
Her purse may have been empty
But she swung it over her shoulder with plenty of dignity
You should have seen her tame a crowd
They never stood a chance
Armed with wisdom, wit and intellect
She could take you across galaxies
With nothing but a few phrases and a passing glance

And to this day I still stand in the shadow of her used-to-be
Never quite what she was, or who she dreamed I'd be
Needless to say, she haunts me
Even in her silence
She has the power to overtake my best defense
That's probably why I keep her at bay
Shameful as it is
I just can't seem to reconcile
The woman she was
                             The mother I miss
The woman she is
                          The one I dismiss
With the woman I am
                       The one I'm not quite ready to be
So different, but more like her than I'm willing to admit
So while Mama's still breathing
She may still be living

Through me