Note: For my mother, on her birthday this Sunday, November 2nd.

That skirt’s too short,

They’ll see through those tights.

Dressed like a Halloween Witch,

You borrow our clothes,

Mine, and my twin’s;

Your daughters.

It’s weird to grow older,

I’m such a better parent at 20 than I was at 14.

They say I look just like you now;

But you look just like that seven year old picture of me,

Dressed in the costume you created,

A bold and proud Cat,

Dressed in a black faded leotard,

A few anxiety tears shed, but

Prancing first out the door to her first Halloween school parade.

I’ve outgrown the scrapbook now,

And your hands look older

Than those that pieced it together,

When I was still a child.

We’re past the days

Where I remember how old you are

By the corresponding number,

Of the Cartoon Network local station.

And yet,

Has anything changed?

I don’t know how to be your friend,

So I don’t try.

It comes naturally anyways,

Like a bizarre self-fulfilling prophecy.

I have your compassion,

(And just like you never let me forget,

The V-shape of my brow,

Is like your mother’s,

Who I barely ever met.)


Please stay until I have grown children,

You had to help me change a broken tire last week,

How will I know how to change diapers,

If I don’t even remember,

To switch over my laundry without your help?

Who else will I turn to when FINALLY,

I get the payback you’ve been promising,

Would come my way,

Since before I could crawl?

I can’t imagine the pain.

I can’t imagine how you look at me

And just the V-shape of my forehead

Without crying.

I can’t imagine what I’d do,

If it were already time to say goodbye.

It may be years ‘til I receive my just desserts,

But please wait ‘til I’ve finished them.

I may not be your mother,

But I am your daughter,

So please;

Stay to meet mine.


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I am a teacher-to-be who loves people. I am not afraid of many things. I like to explain my thoughts logically on a very birds-eye view level--I was born thinking that way. I follow Jesus Christ, and I accept only that label to describe my identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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