I wrote of you,
a writer’s dream, a dewy gaze, a trilogy,
I don’t write the same anymore.

I am worthy.
I am worthy,
of the smile that departs from my lips in the mirror every morning.
I am worthy,
of feeling fulfilled and confident in this body.
I am worthy,
of affection, gratitude, and respect.
I am worthy,
of this, and so much more.

“Come downstairs, dinner’s ready”
No mom!

“Look here, I knit you a sweater for picture day”
No mom!

“Come with me to the store, it’ll only be 10 minutes”
No mom!

…

No mom, don’t leave,
don’t go,
I want to eat that stew once more,
Make me anything,
a scarf for the summer,
I want to smell your scent once more,
I’ll go,
follow you to the ends of the world

Just come home,
I promise I won’t say no anymore

Thank you.
Thank you for carrying me,
against the wind, the jagged rocks and tainted floorboards.
Thank you for enduring,
the pain, the burden, and heat.  
In sadness and in grief,
I torture you, standing, waiting, depleting you of your vitality.
In happiness,
I dance, prance, shake, and run,
I oversee your longevity, as you harden to sustain
my happiness.

All that's left,
is an impression, an imprint in the sand that trails behind.
Effete and tired,
I thank you, my feet,
for carrying me through it all.

I am.
I am a cold, crisp autumn field.
I am a plush scarf in the breeze,
I am omnipresent, and yet never near.
I am a crackling fire in a winter freeze.
I am crumbling, cold, and free.
I am encumbered by the slush and snow.
I am waiting toe-to-toe.
You have seen me,
slouched, burdened, fatigued by the stress of the day,
waiting in the back of the bus bay.
I am all, and I am more.