MackenzieFowler

We know nothing of each other

besides the fact that I was

yours.

But as soon as I

breached your surface,

your hands were not the ones that

held me.

You were not the one who

raised me

on the highest pedestal

because I was what you

cherished the most.

You were not the one I called

mom, momma, mommy.

I never had to reassure you

all throughout my innocent years

that you were my mom.

It was not you whose

beautiful white hands

were blackened,

not from me,

but from working on the assembly line

all night long.

And it certainly wasn’t you

who was with me

on the mission trip to Guatemala.

Security did not see you at all.

All they saw was

coffee and cream

that couldn’t possibly mix.

You did not watch me suffer

from the looks that wanted to pry,

looks of utter confusion

or pure disdain.

And you most certainly were not the one

who cried and pleaded as I held the razor

and watched as the blood spilled

(your blood).

No, mother

you only gave me life

and chose to let me live a better one.