Ego ran away in the middle of the night with my favorite mask.
I did not realize it was gone until morning
When I saw my bare face in the mirror
My twelve-year-old vulnerability with freckles.
I had not seen myself without protective covering for many moons
You cannot go out in public that way! I chastised myself.
You are too fearful, too delicate, too fragile.
Where is your mask?
The mask was long gone, eaten up by the hard-on-me-monster.
Ego apparently thought he was being too accommodating.
She wanted to turn him into a minion for herself.
I fastened a concrete wall around myself,
hoping to fool the masses into thinking I was a grown up.
For Mothers
The Taveta Golden weaver treats her littles so dear
warms her nest as she's always there.
Even when in distant search for a meal
her protective covering; she ensures they wear
so as to be absolute; she's always near.
Her compassion; she invests in me
with each and every tear
which has an unbelievable healing power
resurrecting me and making my problems mere.
Despite facing the Lion's Den in fear
unhurt; we pass through such furnace year after year
and even though considered the most fragile and delicate
the weight she carries, no one can bear.
I'm tossed all around from rock to humous
and trapped in the abyss of termination
as the Demon of death valley makes my end so clear
with no hope, I curse and swear
ready to face the worse,
with horrifying sounds of disaster I hear,
but guess what! My Mama appears.
She's a priceless godess not renowned
nuturing me to be the best in town
her protective arms; my invaluable crown.
Despite sometimes giving her reasons to frown
and embarrassing her like an annoying clown
she's still ready to lay her life down
making me sail through in safety
in the expense of her drown.