They

she was pretty,
inside and out.
her outside remained the same,
but the inside I doubt.

she was my mother,
she thinks she still is,
maybe she is right,
but mostly she fibs.

she thinks she can do everything,
just because she's older,
I used to look up to her,
now my hate couldnt get colder.

come to think of it, I dont hate them,
just the people theyre pretending to be,
their real self is hidden somewhere,
but their soul speaks to me.

or is it mine to them,
I really cannot tell,
or maybe theres no communication,
and our hearts just rebel.

I want them to listen to me,
to what I have to say.
but all they can do is scream and shout,
and so I have to come to you, and to you, my heart I have to lay.