Mere
Katelyn Kirkconnell
4-20-17
Mère
The way she combs her fingers through her hair is captivating;
She always checks herself in the mirror before work to make sure her hair’s align and makeup’s ideal.
She couldn’t go one day without my palm in hers;
The way our skin brushes against one another's like a paintbrush gliding across a canvas makes her piercing, blue eyes glisten with joy.
I could never be like my mother;
Her effigy floats above my head, for she is poised.
She’s never able to confide in anyone else because her soulmate made her think otherwise.
Oh, but my mother lives her life off independency.
Whether or not she has her one true love to awe at her beauty or to reply with “i love you too”.
Altruism is what she’s always taught me.
Self-love is nothing but a void to me because I care about the disapproval of these mortals surrounding me.
Yet, she doesn’t, she never will.
An optimist, she is,
But I...I could never be like my mother.
Copyright © Katelyn Kirkconnell | Year Posted 2017
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