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 love her,

but sometimes i worry that she does not know.

 

we needed some distance.

and although i will always want my mother,

and though she did help me grow,

i do not need my mother.

i did not know before she left what i could do on my own.

i did not know that seeking happiness for others is more fulfilling than seeking it all for yourself.

she put me first,

and i put myself first,

not in a self loving way,

but an egocentric unfulfilling way.

 

after my mother left,

i learned about my family,

started to really see them.

i was no longer the shy girl that hid behind my mother’s leg.

i could finally see what her protective defense was hiding me from.

i fell in love with disaster,

because i knew there was something better to come.

something better would come,

and it would come from me.

i finally saw the gifts i bare.

i was taught the lesson that pain was always trying to give.

she was away but never too far.

i still could have run to her.

let her comfort and protect me from disaster,

but now i know how to deal with pain.

my mom can not make everything go away.

i love her for her comfort,

but sometimes outside of comfort there is havoc,

and just beyond havoc,

i found the greatest place,

that is freedom and peace.

comfort gave me no clarity,

although i am sure that’s what she had always hoped for.

she always tried and did help heal me,

but,

truthfully,

only i can fix myself.

i am glad i learned this.

 

i am grateful for all the times my mother would stay and just lie with me,

for all the times i knew safety,

but i am also grateful that she left,

so i could fall without being caught in her net.

i have finally realized that there is no end,

that i will always fall

 

but,

i think,

on my own,

i’ll have more room to learn to fly.

thank you, mom.

– g. c.

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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 mother’s,

searching for it in others,

who have nothing to give,

and I have nothing to give them,

empty worthless exchanges,

if we can’t find love within ourselves,

we can’t expect to give love

 

i only search for my mother and her love,

when they can’t be found,

when she is not around

 

i am my mother’s daughter- g.c.