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

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