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September 4, 2019

Blinded by Admiration of My Mothers

I’m an amalgamation. Hugging in those that feel close, and adopting parts of them as my own. I gravitate to women. Yearn for their love, their guidance, their warmth and their tenderness. I want to see the woman I want to become in those around me. I have searched for the one, the mother,  for as long as I can remember. The mother who would stay close forever, always be a safe place and a place of inspiration. A place to teach me all I need to know about being a woman in this world. Teach me all that I need to know about being tender in my strength.



I want you to be my warrior

woman- not for what you did 

but simply because you exist. 

I want you to be my rock, the 

woman I admire and worship and 

dream to become. And sometimes 

you are, in soft moments, moments of 

childlike innocence, wrapped in purple 

haze of my carefully decorated bedroom, 

in the clothes cut and sewn from off cuts 

of your own. In those moments there is nothing 

more than the image of you, draped in white, 

head bowed, hands always busy, moving, hovering, 

rubbing. In that moment you are the miracle.

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