I wish I wrote words not so fierce,

loneliness my main companion,

while having love around me, laborious voice,

strained to feel grateful in difficult times,

absorbed in emptiness and confusion.

Motivation given by the one I bore,

when I was young and yet naive,

she keeps me pressing like a lifeline,

attempting to teach her a healthier way,

aware she’s aware of my vulnerabilities.

I’m her mother, I know she feels the strain

of burdens where we have no fault,

yet as each new cycle turns, new blame is felt,

bladed wounds, unintended yet visible,

caught in webs of self-loathing and preservation.

It helps to know I have such love,

as imperfect as I truly am,

I must start loving myself again,

vigorously, forgiving my past mistakes,

intent on healing and recovery;

if not for me, then for her sake.

Emily C. Poésie © 2018