I'll never understand what happened.

I'll never quite get it.

Things changed so rapidly,
And I'll never quite understand how or when,
Or if I was even there at all to stop it.

In some ways,
You'll always be my mother.
In other ways,
You'll never be.

And as much as parts of me
Whole anger and resentment,
There will always be a larger,
Much more forgiving
Part of me
That does not.

That holds only love
And appreciation
For everything you did.

So go ahead,
Paint me black.
I will love you through it,
Because, well,
We both know
I used to be golden.