Sometimes my heart stops at the sight of my children,
Mostly when they’re unaware I’m watching,
The emotion crawls  up the back of my head,
then reaches round and stabs me in the heart,
It chokes a lump into my throat,
Emotion in its purest form,
It’s fear that’s behind it,
Fear that i can’t give my children what they deserve,
Fear that I can’t protect them every hour of every day,
And because of that something terrible could happen in my absence,
And then I could never live with myself,
Then those thoughts run away with themselves and suddenly I’m on the verge of tears,
Or maybe it’s just fear of not being able to contain the amount of love they create in my soul,
Because their mine,
They’re me - every look every feature every bone,finger nail,hair, skin every single molecule,
And sometimes it’s feels like each of those pieces are being ripped from my body anew,
It’s an innate need to want them near me all the time,
And they don’t want to be because they’re at that age,
And that fills me with pride at how much they’re growing up,
And that pride starts to creep up the back of my head again,
It’s an amazing, devastating , frustratingly educating, celebrating, elevating altogether rejuvenating thing to be a parent.
I might get angry, I might want to cry, I’m always laughing and I never stop being proud of my kids,
They’re everything,
There my reason for doing,
and my reason for not,
They’re purpose itself,
They’re innocent,
And honest - well most of the time,
But they’re mine,
And they’re everything and all I need.