Mama,
how did you hold me
when my hands were full of thorns,
when my voice was storm and silence,
when I shut every door
but yours?

You stood,
a lantern in the hallway,
like a lighthouse, guiding me home.
When I called your name in ash,
When I broke what you had built,
and still—
you never asked for the past.

I remember you in fragments:
the hum behind my fever dreams,
the arms that knew no armor,
the eyes that saw the boy beneath
the war I wore like skin.
I spat my sorrow,
you swallowed it whole,

'Told me love
is not afraid
to kneel.'

Now I write you in the quiet,
where guilt and gratitude entwined,
and I pray you knew
that every sorry
was mine.

Mama,
your love was the sky—
and I was rain
'falling wrong,
falling wild,
falling home.'
No matter how
this storm would hurt you
Mama, I know—
You will always
love me,
even at my worst.


Erennwrites