sarcasimish

Angles, angels
I used to mix up angels and angles
The spelling got me
English was hard to learn especially Since i didn’t really want to learn it

Once, twice, thrice
I still don’t find it fair that thrice isn’t a thing

I’m walking tomorrow

For my mother who never even got to high school
Who frowns whenever I’ve put my schoolwork over cleaning my room 

I’m walking tomorrow 

The bond of siblings doesn’t quite make sense,
Because I will go half hungry so they can eat the other part of my sandwich,

The simmering heat of anger that a sibling can make you burn with can be quite questionable,

The sagging of her shoulders and delay of her footsteps showed what her voice would not,
Because her mother told her that complaining is for the weak, 
That she has never and will never bear a weak child.

You can’t live for miracles, you know? 
Because miracles are rare and fleeting,
You can't spend all of you life waiting for something that’s probably never going to happen. 

I worry that I put my backpack through too much abuse,
I wonder if the straining zippers are its protest, 
If it’s screaming at me that it’s too full,
That no, it can’t fit one more book,
But I just can’t help getting one more.