This time of year soon comes to pass,
Where once again, we gift and praise,
The one who gave us life itself,
Shaped our thoughts and weaved our ways.
She who bore the fetal flesh,
To feed the hungry nursling so.
Love so deep, that knew no bounds,
Planted seeds that came to grow.
The child, too soon now tall and aged,
Yet in the heart still sweet and new,
Her ***** now a memory passed,
But bones are strong and ties long grew.
Disgruntled teen, a storm of ways!
And yet, foundations last the waves,
Survive the hurt of natures' wrath,
Oh, how the twist of time behaves!
Mature and wise, her work is done,
So on this day we sing our truth,
To hold her high and thank her so,
For precious time and sparkling youth!
But this was not the case for you,
The title held but duty missed,
There was no home of joy and love,
A heart unheld and face unkissed.
Shame fed the soil in place of trust,
The heart was sealed from infants grasp,
Insults hurled and cries unheard,
Where hands should link, a missing clasp.
The whirling growth of ones' own mind,
Insulted deep and made you loathe.
The seed you sewn and path you paved,
Forced then to feed and clean and clothe.
But know this Mother,
I hold no grudge.
For I am now a Mother too.
So have this day,
I thank you still,
And know I am much more than you.
This is just how I feel about my Mother. I have, of course, never told her how I feel and nor will I. She is now far too old and time has passed that she isn't even the same abusive woman anymore, but a shell of herself, and to punish her would seem pointless. However I find this poem to be cathartic because I know deep down, I mean it.