My mother

My mother is warmth.

I watch her in Awe.

How she exudes her love,

her kindness,

her humour.

My mother and I,

are very different.

She is good with people.

(I am not).

She is resilient.

(I am not).

 

My mother is strength.

She’s the comfort to childhood nightmares,

she holds my dreams,

she knows my fears.

I never knew it before.

We argued.

We had disagreements.

I always said,

she wouldn’t understand.

I misunderstood

her warnings,

her advice,

for…

dictatorship.

I was a teenager,

(synonym for stupid).

 

My mother is empathy.

She forgives my transgressions,

she showers me with her love,

her concern,

and I…

I push back and say

“gosh, I’m twenty-one”.

 

My mother is not perfect,

she is over-protective,

a perfectionist,

she is too sensitive

and we argue,

we argue,

but these arguments,

are becoming

further

and

further

apart.

More and more,

we spend time

talking.

And more and more

I am in awe.

 

 

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3 thoughts on “My mother

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