Reading harold_maude's journal

I wrote this poem a few years ago. I was thinking about my childhood.
My mother wasn't an achololic, but she was angry, all the time.
Mostly at my father.

I'm standing on my head
just for you
singing the blues
just for you
making tomato soup
just for you
blowing bubbles
just for you
coloring pretty and staying in the lines
just for you
Mommy don't you see
why do you ignore me
tell me you love me
then act like I'm not here
making pretty snowflakes
just for you
making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
just for you
getting good grades in school
just for you
when they ask me about the bruises
I tell them I just fell down
making you valentine's cards
with lots of pretty hearts
just for you
hiding the cuts and brusises
just for you
making sure my socks match
just for you
making tea
just for you
doing the dishes
just for you
It's ok mommy I know your sick again
I'll be real quiet, I'll be good
just for you

It only looks that way because your standing on your head.