Tuesday, February 28, 2012

My Mothers Kitchen

When the sun goes up my eyes lit up
When the sun goes down my eyes get swallowed by my skin
Seeing all these changes in my mothers special room
In which she stays to make the food that rest in my stomach slowly being killed by my acids
But just because its been labeled for her to stay doesn't mean thats her true talents
She wont be locked by chains of society
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  1. I like the concept here, but it could be more poetic. This reads almost more like an outline for a poem about female oppression and the rewards and sacrifices that accompany being a mother.

  2. You can try to separate it into stanzas to make it more effective.