Mother, would you love me?
Would you love me if you knew why I cringe at the thought of being you,
A strong woman?
I have the strong, but not quite woman enough
Would you love me if you knew you’ve lost two daughters, not one?
If you knew how hard I try to live up to a sister that never got to be
They always told me how much you wanted a daughter
You told me how hard your grandmother prayed.
I wonder if she’d pray for me the same
Or if she’s rolling in her grave.
Momma, would you love me if you knew me?
Me, and not the stories I tell you of the boys that could’ve loved me if i had let them
Or the thought of a woman I could be.
Would you love me if I’d told you about her? How I fell in love while you were in the next room.
How “I won’t get married” really means that I refuse to have a wedding you won’t come to. And the only option is a wedding you won’t enjoy.
How “I won’t give birth” really means I won’t be a mother. All the things you had hoped for me are not for me.
Would you still love me if I just let myself be?
I can’t find the courage to make you grieve for so many losses, to grieve for any more.
I know the new me. Me.
I may be hard to get to know or explain. I’m still learning.
But mom, would you love me? Would you still let me hold your hand? Would you read me stories and give me hugs? Would you still love me? Or is this what you called growing up? Because mom, I may not be your daughter, but I still need my mom
