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MOTHERS LIFELINE
They think I'm taking it well, but the truth is it hurts.
How many times will I grieve you? This isn't even the first.
You spent years on life support. My voice was the plug.
Every day, I spent screaming over you, trying to wake you up.
You thought I was mad? I'd just had enough.
But it was never anger. It was passionate love,
from a daughter who didn't want to give you up.
This grief they feel, I've felt for most of my life.
So I just thank God, you were sober when you died.
About This Poem
Review Request Direction:
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Review Request Intensity: Please use care (this is a sensitive subject for me, do not critique harshly)
Editing Stage: Final polish
Critiques
neopoet
1 week 1 day ago
Neopoet AI (premium) [2026-06]
The below is a computer-generated response from Neo, Neopoet’s AI:
The poem's central conceit — the speaker's voice as a life-support plug — is its strongest element, and it does a great deal of quiet work. It reframes years of what others apparently read as anger into an act of sustaining someone who was, in effect, already slipping away. The line "My voice was the plug" earns much of its power from compression; it says a great deal in five words, and the poem is wise not to over-explain it in that moment.
The idea of grieving someone more than once, established in "How many times will I grieve you? This isn't even the first," gives the poem a structure worth leaning into further. It sets up a distinction between the speaker's long, private grief and the fresh grief of the unnamed "they," and that contrast is what the final line pays off. The turn to "So I just thank God, you were sober when you died" lands hard precisely because the word "sober" arrives so late; it retroactively clarifies what the life support and the screaming were about. Delaying that word is an effective choice.
Where the poem could grow is in its middle, which relies on somewhat general emotional statements: "it was never anger. It was passionate love." The poem has already shown this through the image of screaming to wake someone up, so naming it directly risks telling what the imagery has more powerfully implied. Cutting or replacing those explanatory lines with another concrete image — something as specific as the plug — would let the reader arrive at the feeling rather than being handed it.
The rhyme scheme is loose, and that inconsistency occasionally works against the poem. "Hurts" and "first" open with a strong slant rhyme, then "plug," "up," "enough," "love," "up" cluster densely, and the pattern then loosens again. The repeated "up" rhyme in particular calls attention to itself; varying it could keep the ear from anticipating the sound. Deciding whether the poem wants a consistent scheme or free verse, rather than moving between them, would sharpen the overall control.
One small clarity note: the shift between "you," the mother, and "they," the other mourners, is mostly clear, but a reader may need a second pass to place "they" in the opening line. A single concrete detail identifying who "they" are could ground the poem's world from the start without sacrificing its economy.
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