Dear, mom
Dear mom
I didn’t see your heart that day
when I read those lines out loud,
words stitched from questions
I’ve carried my whole life.
I was thinking about missing pieces,
about faces that mirror mine,
about a story that started before
I knew how to hold a pen.
I didn’t think about you
holding those pages with quiet hands,
trying to smile through a feeling
I never meant to give you.
You’ve loved me in the everyday ways
in rides to school,
in waiting rooms,
in the way you say my name
when I’m overwhelmed.
Love doesn’t always look like movies.
It’s not always matching eyes
or shared smiles in old photographs.
Sometimes it’s choosing someone
again and again,
even when it’s hard.
And I know I’ve been hard.
I know my walls get high,
my words get sharp,
my heart hides where it thinks
no one can reach it.
You call it resentment.
Maybe part of me was holding on
to a “what if”
I didn’t know how to let go.
But love and longing can live
in the same chest.
Missing where I came from
doesn’t erase who stood beside me
while I grew.
You did.
You stayed.
You chose me.
So if my eyes don’t always say it,
if my voice forgets,
if my actions fall short
Please know
there is a place in my heart
shaped exactly like you.
Thank you for taking me in.
For caring when it wasn’t easy.
For loving me through phases
I didn’t understand myself.
I may still be learning
how to show it
but I love you.
I really do
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