So, I used to be a poet. And here goes one of my poems:
Mother knows her son is hurting
And she wishes she knew the burdens that have been plaguing her baby.
She’s constantly waiting for him to tell her his problems;
It’s mother’s instinct to solve them.
She calls him to her room, then asks him …
“What’s wrong? Do you want to talk?”
Her eyes are sincere, She wants to hear…
Heart racing in