Mother

My age is measured by your age, your ability and flexibility controls and affects my life and time. We change with time; our roles in our friendship flips from new sliver to grey and worn. I am now analysing you as a person, adult, and mother. Now i am adult enough to judge you, no shhh i have an opinion. Your parenting techniques were and still are questionable, but because you weren’t perfect you didn’t expect me to be. My little bright and shining star, my favourite. I look at you and see me, spending time with you is like spending time with me. Blank looks, confusion. I am me not you! you are everything i wanted to be, you are the true me desperate sad look. You are looking at my skin, my shell. I am the chosen one because i look like you? i am the one that gets to sort your things out when you die because i look like you! I am the one you will only listen to because i look like you? I am the one you say you will wait for on the other side for because i have your eyes. I am a sprit my soul trapped in a shell that belongs to you?, you are my human mum. I will look after you, i will dress you, feed you, bath you and hold your hand and listen to the same story over again, because it is the right thing to do not because you use to look like me.