I wonder if our mothers
long before they were our keepers
and their spines had moulded to bear us
when their curls still played in the wind,
and the sun carressed their skin

I wonder if they were much like us
fiercely passionate, highly opinionated, fearlessly alive
yet so complexly delicate inside and filled with such grande dreams
children of the flower, bearers of the land

And if they were much like us would that mean that all I’m fighting for now may become mute
All this fight I have now will it become apathy?
Will I mistake control, for care?
Lies for honesty?
Misogyny for protection?
Empty words for hope?
Will I ignore it when I see a stain on the collar of his shirt and know that I don’t wear that shade?
Will I forget how to stand up for myself just to make him feel like more of a man?
and will I pick up habits to numb the pain?

Will I forget what the sun feels like as I get my yearly vitamin D prescription?
or will I forget that sticky salty wind that would hit my face as my feet hit the beach every morning?
Will I forget what it’s like to stay up through the night with a really good book and be carried away into another world?
or what it feels like when you go to a new place and you can just feel something in you crying out for it?
What it feels like to just dress for me or what it’s like to feel sexy?
or wanted? desired? loved?
I feel like I’m already mourning a life that I am just beginning
I’m missing the woman I could be

I wonder if our mothers miss her too
The potential
The plan
The hopes and aspirations

Will I forget that I ever wrote this?