Three Divorced Feathers

My mother would smack me across the face
If I even mumbled back at her
Her footprints were on my cheeks
Twenty years ago when I was young
At the kitchen table
Now my teenage daughter is out of control

She belittles her little brother
Calls him "V.D." and "retard"
She goads my husband
Tells him, "When my dad was here,
We were happy
He would never treat me like you do
My dad loves me
You're not my father
I don't have to listen to you"

She calls me three times a day at work
Ordering, {Mom, I need to have a talk with you}
As a daughter, I was my mother's doormat
Now as a mother, I'm my daughter's floor mat

Fazeel Azeez Chauhan

11-26-02