Rising .

I'm six years old again as I look into the eyes of my mother cracking under pressure. I see pain in her eyes that she can no longer hide. Her lips finally begin to tell secrets of a life I shouldn't have had. You would think sorry's and apologizes at this point would mean nothing she is my mother and I am her daughter. Her perseverance for the minor leagues as always struck me hard. I can't imagine restful nights beside a monster, hours in rooms with a priest, or being the guinea pig of a world full of pills and self medicating. But that's not why I tell you this story. I'm six years old again and my mother looks worn out. Her eyes are hallow, her hair grey, her skin worn down, her tears imprinted. She looks at me she cries for me. It is you mother that has taught me to be stronger than everyone and anyone. It is you mother that has sentenced me to a life filled with wombs and no defenses, it is you mother who has taught me to wipe away my own tears and never bow my head down. But it isn't you that I honor for all my rightful doings or my sanity today. i don't thank your doctors or your God. I thank the little girl that pulled through. The one who's hand I finally took and began to embrace again. I thank her for reminding me that life is truly beautiful and that I am deserving of a man to hold me down. It is she that has taught me that I to have granted permission to love and bring an offspring into this world. It is that little girl who has taught me where i've slipped rather than where I fell .

To you mother; in all your grace.
Hold your tears back and no need for apologizes .
In the turns of life, you were my driving force.
Thank you.