It was the year of the tiger, the year of my birth

The first and only time that to my mum I had worth

Whether to be a whore or a mum, she was torn

Though she loved me, she wished I hadn’t been born

For years I’ve felt her icy abandonment

I’ve had to keep all the lies, the sneaky concealments

There were times when I wore her stinging slapsĀ 

Inside my head it sounded like breaking thunder claps

But even worse than causing physical pain

Was the emotional turmoil felt in my brain

At times it was her hurtful criticism

And if I was joyous, her vengeful cynicism

She seemed to get pleasure from her bitchy derision

Why couldn’t she change? It was her decision

It ultimately added up to me feeling bereft

If only she’d gone for good when she first left

So instead of me having a nice normal family

I have been lumped with this cancerous anomaly.