This pillow,
which I hug tight when I'm scared,
is the only thing I had when nobody cares.
This pillow is soft as a mothers' touch,
where I shared all my sorrow and pain,
but my mother's touch is softer than any mothers would.
But where did they go?
This pillow soaks up all my tears,
cover up my shameful face,
so that my mother never knew that I was in my darkest sorrow.
Cries then pretend to be happy. Worried of life but smiling.
Sick of the process but living it.
Can't breathe but laughing.
Scared of the crowd but walking through it.
Letting myself get hurt,
As long as my mother is not sad.
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