Resistance is futile.

Her charm is a Northern star
that illuminates the trail
mapping out your potential.

She’ll take those excuses
that hung upon your frame like chain-mail
and toss them like a child’s knapsack,
light years from your reach.

I didn't need to say a thing
before she got to work
yanking me from the homemade muck
in which I was drowning my dignity.

Who knows which depths I’d have reached,
what abyss might have become
the blueprint of my worldview,
without her seasoned eye for navigation?

What tangible item can symbolize
even a fraction of my gratitude?
Anyway, back to all about her.

Mother, sister, grandma--
they’re not identities
so much as works of art
in her careful hands.

Prepare to feel loved.
You've got no say in the matter.