My mom feels personally insulted by the pile of clothes on my chair and I love her for it, on most days

A poem

It was mother’s day last Sunday and I was supposed to write last Monday and I haven’t done justice to both days. I used to write some poetry in school which was honestly very lame. So lame, that reading it makes me gag but I wrote a poem on Sunday which is also very lame now that I read it but we should ship the work we do and putting ourselves out there is hard and I should do it more often and without any more rambling here’s it (for you to judge, appreciate, relate with, hate, everything)

Photo by Mathilde Langevin on Unsplash

I do not think it is possible for any person to be closer to anybody other than their mother
The secret, I do not know
My heart sinks with hers
My eyes fill up with hers
My hands tremble with hers
The lump in her throat is mine
The wrinkle on her forehead is mine
The weight on her chest is mine
And I am only as happy as she is, the mothership
Give me everyday,
The privilege of your happiness
The privilege of your wellness
The privilege of your good life
For it is the epicentre of my good life.

And almost forgot,
That hairtie you thought you lost, mine too

Phew.

Wrote it. Posting it on the internet to be thoroughly embarrassed by my writing three months from now. I am sure the nervousness is palpable.

But yes, mom if you’re reading it, I mean every word but would request you to get off my back about the pile of clothes on the chair for a happy and peaceful life for the both of us.

With love,
Your daughter