I often wonder if you ever think about me anymore
Did you ever think about me at all?
In younger days we spent hours talking
I used to think that was special but recently
I realized you were mostly talking about yourself.

One of the last conversations mom had with you
consisted of harsh reality and a bit of begging on her part
She told you if she had a choice she'd never leave me
She asked you to use your luxury of choice and stay
You left anyway, when she wasn't even cold.

Just for clarification I'm not talking about physically
although you did leave that way too but that, I understand
I already knew you were almost incapable of the physical
When I ran across that parking lot hugging you - yearning for warmness
And your body went on high alert and all alarms sounded – and tensed.

I know love can't be said out loud or touched in our family I just forgot.
Love has to be in action alone.
Trips and concerts, movies and carnivals with friends.
Those make for great memories but there's an hollowness to them.
A coldness where there should be warmth.

But dammit - love isn't found in the bottom of that bottle either.
It's not in the serenity of slurred words or the satisfaction of that first sip.
There's an emptiness like the bottles all over your floor.
Always complaining of hoarding but you're hoarding everything inside.
There's no room for anything else. Not even me. Your only daughter.

I know I can't make you stop. I can't make you see me.
I wish I was a cute child to wave and do cartwheels and say
Daddy, look at me! Look at this! LOOK!!!
Instead I'm a motherless daughter scrambling to raise my kids better
And you are not looking anywhere but in that bottle inside yourself.