I have been thinking a lot about my firstborn baby, my little Cam, lately. I am not ready to talk about why just yet but, I’ll just say that he is his own little unique person and I struggle to understand the best ways to be his mom sometimes. I’ve posted this poem over at my other blog, but I want to post it here, too.
there is no difference in the anger that bubbles in your small chest
and what burns like fire in mine.
We are the same
awash in emotion
and I’m in charge
so I should know better.
I worry a lot about your soul
Where it came from
and how to keep it pure.
I am trying so hard to keep my hands away from you,
to end the way our souls have been broken.
What a different word we’d live in, maybe,
if there was some other way
if pain wasn’t bragged on
if we’d look somewhere else.
your grandmother is wrong.
Your mother is wrong.
This maze we fall into is confounding.