I miss you, poo

I miss you, son. I miss the baby boy I once held in my arms. The innocent, the uninfluenced child that you used to be.

I wish I knew what I did that hurt you. I wish I knew why I keep blaming myself only.

Was a bad mom in your eyes? Was too selfish in your eyes?

Why can’t you love me or try and understand what I went through, or even what I suffered through?

Why don’t you even care?

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