Oh, Mother Where Art Thou?

Hunger.

Hungry.

Hollowness.

Emptiness.

Mother made me.

Cast me aside.

Buried me with others.

She doesn't hear our cries.

"Please, mother, feed us! Feed us with your eyes!"

We beg this.

Every time she makes another.

Every time she cleans her palette.

Every time she's near.

"Please, mother."

"Please hang us upon a wall. We beg you, mother."

Yet we remain.

Sometimes others join.

The one on the outside is the luckiest.

It at least still gets eyes.

Enough not to feel famished.

Oh, how wonderful some eyes would be.

They could be green, brown, purple; I care not.

Just some curious eyes.

Oh, how I would revel in their gaze.

If only but for a moment.

"Oh, mother where art thou?"

I am so hungry.