“I don’t want to turn out like you,”
I spit, all teenage fury and fire.
“You don’t understand me,”
I hurl at my mother
Blind to the mirror before me.
How could I not see?
Maybe my desperate hunger to be only myself
Blurred the truth:
She was already part of me.
Then, a day arrived
Quiet, soft, inevitable
When she became more than “mother.”
I saw a woman:
Unbreakable and tender,
Unyielding yet gentle,
Carving space for her own spirit
While carrying the weight of others.
She stands alone,
Fiercely independent,
Yet never forgets to wrap the world
In her warmth.
She knows when to fight,
When to forgive,
How lucky I’d be
If even a single shard
Of who she is
That rare balance of power and grace
Found its home in me
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