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She looks in the mirror
At the age on her face
"I wonder what he thinks
of me this way?"

She considers her weight
and the pores on her skin
She thinks out loud
"I don't deserve him."

She picks apart
the woman he loves
Separating her worth
from all that she does
              
He looks in her eyes
and caresses her face
He sees it glowing with love
and full of grace

 The lines on her face
  he views with pride
  Recounting the victories
  each time they've been tried

The weight that she carries
 is that of a mom
 Nothing's too heavy
 She just marches on

These bodies will perish
 and mirrors offer no truth
True love abides
 beyond the corridors of youth

  No, she doesn't deserve me
  Perhaps God can see
  Conceivably, one day
  I'll be as worthy as she
to the mother of my children. Happy Mother's Day!
~

someone told me once,
poets are a dime a dozen;
yes, "we've chosen a craft
that a pittance pays"
and are most oft
recognized only
by the ashes
of the pages,
the words
we leave behind.

yet, i say write,
write today
like your life
depends on it...

for most of us
it doesn't,

but for all of us
our epilogue
just might!

so write!
~

post script.

quote from a previous a couple of years back.  
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/479369/the-wordsmiths-ballad/
(to she who took liberties not hers to take)

~

may i caution you on critiques
of those whom you don't know,
those with whom you haven't
developed e'en the slightest rapport?
i'd charge you to think more simply,
to listen close and get to know
those who come here to be heard,
who offer smiles and lend an ear...
and in return receive a bit
of comfort, perhaps some hope.
if i thought that you would hear me
i'd suggest you may not much like
to swallow your own harsh words,
but now i see you've not bothered
to offer us even one
of your own poetic lines.
so instead i will suggest
that you find another site,
a place that gathers folks
full of themselves (and spite).
and should you chose to stay instead
please don't forget that here at HP
we value our community, as one,
from most prolific to the least;
those who write in English though
its not their language first;
teens who've had
no formal training,
and those with PhD;
all are valued here, and
we don't mind a thought or two,
but have first the decency,
get to know us 'fore you criticize,
and gift us a knowing you.

~

post script.

when i read a brand new HP member's harsh and unnecessary critique of the winner of this past Monday's daily, yet had offered not even one poem of their own here on HP, i felt a sense of betrayal for our teenaged community member who had with vulnerability written about herself as a "battered butterfly". i have no problem with fair critique, but i say you'd better know us first and we you. i appreciate this HP community... immensely!

and by the way, if i may say, kudos to our member she defended herself most graciously!

in final words to she for whom this is written, should she wish to humbly retract her words, i will readily forgive; i would gladly look forward to one day embracing her as part of this wonderful community!  we all make mistakes... myself included.
The weight of these words
rolling around in my head
are breaking my neck
one thought at a time.
I am not afraid of death
It's the waiting that's killing me.
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