Shahana Jackson Poet I do not know?

Blossoming With Age

My mother is beautiful she looks so vibrant... she is just like a 30 something mom but 
looking more like 20 and I am so proud of her. Walking on this earth with her head held 
high, hard ships may come but she will still be floating on wonderful bubbles. She 
deserves the world, and I think that all the men who know her want to take her there. I 
tell her to take it slow, she tells me she is never searching for love... that love 
merely finds her. This is my mother raised in a traumatic family... nothing came easy and 
even the good things were squeezed to the last drop. My mother grew up in a home of an 
alcoholic and though she had struggles she never slipped on the rain. I am so great full 
and am so emotionally stable because my mother had a good head on her shoulders and she 
never let me fall without leaning. I was her last child and as she raised me my life was 
filled with more love than anyone could buy for their wife at Tiffany's. I was spoiled 
and left to roam free but filled with wisdom. She never kept secrets from me unless she 
thought my little ears couldn't handle them. And even though some nights were hard I say 
mama your blossoming with age and I picked up a photo and laughed. I was turning into a 
little daisy myself and I was proud to be compared to her.

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