I think it's strange how, as you get older and have children, you realize just exactly how much pain you've caused your parents as you struggled through to adulthood...

She is out there again,
tending her flowers,
colorful blooms smiling
up to her saddened face.
Red-brown hair pulled back,
hands caked with earth,
pulling offensive weeds
threatening to choke the
life out of the garden
she loves so much.
I stare out my window,
sneaking the cigarette
I know she hates,
hoping to be caught
just to anger her,
to see that saddened
face pinken with
helpless rage at me.
She does what she can
to make me happy but
it's never enough for
this sullen infant
to show appreciation for.
Greedy, selfish, lost
in my own troubles
I ignore the sacrifices
made on my behalf;
the things she has done
with out to better
my pitiful existance.
I love her, undoubtedly
though I'll never show her,
not until I've a child
of my own.
Then I'll sit and
remember the pain I've
caused, the anger I've wrought
and wish that I had left
her be, peaceful amongst
her flowers, so well
tended, because I
refused to acknowledge
the same gentle caring
was also bestowed
on me.