Eugene Yeboah Poet Rhyme

Letter From Your Pothead Son

I have had one sanctuary 
to protect me from the wild, 
she is a lone wolf, 
majestic her style. 
She said walk like a god, 
so my goddess will find me, 
my shining north star,
when I am lost out at sea. 

You are my mother, 
that status is yours,
love without stipulation, 
since the days of all fours. 
So to this I impart, 
to beloved matriarch, 
a bit of my soul 
manifested in art.

A sardonic variety 
our relation can be, 
when I say I'm with friends, 
I bring doubt and worry. 
And rightfully so, 
for you see through my guise, 
in my blood shot, 
laid back 
and satisfied eyes. 

The problem with change 
is it elicits disdain, 
I am flawed 
I am maturing, 
but you'll be okay. 
I am your son, 
not your baby, 
this you must comprehend, 
but that never means 
that our kinship will end. 

For you are my mother, 
your pride in me glows, 
from my dizzying heights, 
to my miserable lows. 
No more I can say, 
It’s a fruitless endeavor, 
my appreciation for you, 
will last forever. 

So allow me to conclude, 
on one final note, 
and utter these words,
before they are never spoke.
You'll worry about me, 
its what all mothers do, 
I understand your sacrifices 
and I love you too.

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