Perfume bottle

Yesterday was mixed with pure emotion
I tackled my self with defence of motion
I arrived as innocent as I left but the door was left unopened
My grandma was talking of witch, a memory of bad and atrocious.
Why the need to brag on a past full of tears and pain
When I'm now living happily in the fast lane.

What will it take for a simple 'well done' from the father of mine,
To rain on my parade and make me feel worse inside.
This could be a way from him to make me strive for his perfection,
He knows I want his congratulations so this may be my motivation.

I was flicking through pictures what once was my own mother,
She looked like me and it was like a reflection in a mirror.
I promised my children I wouldn't be like her and leave without a goodbye
She died a long and painful death from toxics in a bottle.
She was a caring and courageous woman but how comes I only remember the bad.
When others sit their wishing they could bring her back, why am I glad she is dead?

Maybe she caused me to much pain and hassle in a childhood,
Maybe it's because I have done so much better without the help from her,
Maybe it's because she's missed the best bits of my life,
Like walking down the aisle and finally becoming a wife.

I do love you dear mother, more then your ever know
But I just want to tell you, I'm not sad to let you go.