• When I look at your picture,
    It hurts me inside.
    A flood of emotions,
    All the ones I try to hide.

    In your photo album,
    Laying under my desk,
    A picture of us together,
    With me pressed to your chest.
    I am just a baby,
    And your eyes seem filled with joy.

    But then I flipped to the next one,
    And it's me with a toy.
    You are in the background,
    A frown upon your face.
    I was a toddler in that picture,
    And didn't know your distaste.

    5 more pictures in the album,
    Each one more painful than the next.
    You can see your growing hatred,
    That there's life beating in my chest.
    You tried to beat it out of me,
    And truth be told, it almost worked.
    But I held on just barely,
    With a sparkle, a glimmer, a thirst,
    For something a little better.
    The guts to get up and let you know,
    That I don't deserve what you give me,
    That I deserve a home that shows,
    The love a child needs,
    To grow up and feel secure.
    Or at least to feel like She's wanted,
    And not be beaten to a pulp with words.

    So this is why, my Mother,
    I am finally doing what I said,
    I am throwing away this album,
    And finally clearing my head.
    I just have one final worry,
    That when your pictures are done and gone,
    That when your memory is cleared from my belongings,
    Every memento of you burned,
    Will you still remember me?
    And if possibly you do,
    Will it be as that baby you cherished,
    Or as the teen who's emotions you slew?