my mom left for a while. she needed to know who she was. even i was uncertain of who she was. this woman i watched all my life, amazed, she could do no wrong, but as i grew older, i began to see every flaw. still, even those at times, seem to be perfect. i…

my hands are like my mother’s, the scent of dish soap lingering, ungroomed nails, rough broken skin, working hands, an unloved body, possessing a wondering soul   my ambitions are like my mother’s, too difficult for other’s to grasp   my past actions, fill their heads with doubt and uncertainty   my love is like my…