Fighters, won’t you take your positions?
The match is about to begin.
It’s not a big decision,
To go through this again.
It tends to start somehow,
For some mysterious reason.
Fighters, won’t you take a bow?
This might be the game of the season.
A word and a look are thrown,
Quickly from across the ring.
The tension seems to have grown,
There’s no telling what more it’ll bring.
Now, you’re both in the attack mode,
Words are getting stronger than ever.
But you’re speaking in different codes,
Communication seems to be severed.
It’s nothing special really,
This daily confrontation.
To some it may seem silly.
A ridiculous altercation.
But it’s the nature of all
Mothers and daughters to disagree
When one or both builds a wall
Through which they fail to see.
Precious time spent today,
May not be found here later.
I’ll try to do what you say
And to your needs I will cater.
All I need is for us to try
And retire from this constant game.
Don’t keep your walls so high
And I’ll try to do the same.
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I wish I didn't argue with my mother so much :( ...(I know that I write some of the most contrived, mechanical poetry ever-I'm seriously not fishing for complements-but I decided that one of the perks of having my own blog was being able to publish my poetry, dammit! :D)
