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H.R.S.
HRS,
Mother speaks.
She uses it as a curse word.
And I know they’re to blame,
For our troubles,
For the tears my family cries,
Upon separation.
HRS
My childish mind,
Couldn’t see the connection,
Between the nice ladies I see,
And the title of my problem.
I didn’t know,
That what I said,
Would determine my future.
I didn’t understand,
That the tears I cried,
Would lessen with time,
That I would harden,
Or forget what my family looks like.
I never imagined,
My brothers would never know,
Their oldest sister,
Or at least remember her.
I never knew,
I’d never see my parents again,
Or that I’d lose,
Everything they gave me,
Pictures,
Keepsakes,
You name it,
I don’t have it.
The tears I cry now,
Catch me by surprise,
And Mom’s not there no more,
To lend me her shoulder,
And let me stain her shirt,
With the tears I cry.
WHY DIDN’T I KNOW?
I wish I’d never met ,
The ladies from,
HRS.
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"So we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived, or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?" - Hunter S Tompson