🌹Mother’s Day (Poem)🌹

You hurt her.

Many times, throughout your life, you did so.
You even drew her blood. You think you’re blameless, do you? That’s what we all think.
There was a required price of her very blood simply for your passage to the physical realm from the spirit.

Before that, you stole the very vitamins and minerals from her bloodstream, like a leech or a tapeworm,
and then you rewarded her by shoving hydrochloric acid up into her chest.

You kicked her. not a gentle shake. But you kicked her out of a dead sleep, many nights.

You hurt her.

She sat up stressed out, taking years off her life, when you stayed out late and didn’t tell her where you were.
You terrorized her by letting her ever think you’d been detained or that, even worse, you were lying in a ditch lifeless.
You could have sent a simple text or taken the time to give a simple call…or heck, you could have just not stayed out past a certain time like she lovingly commanded, for your own best interest.
But…you were too busy out having fun. “Damn her feelings,” you said. “She just wants to control me,” you said.
You spit in her face by dismissing her feelings saying, “I’m grown now and can look out for myself.”
You arrogantly proclaimed this…as if she had never been your age or seen more than you can imagine.

She worked those 3 jobs and still managed to make every football game, karate tournament, and school play.
She was the documentarian of your every milestone and progression,
compiling scrapbooks and photo albums for your referencing pleasure,
so that you could always have a reminder of how far you come and the potential of where you could go.
She was the orchestrator, organizer, and decorator of Birthdays, fundraisers, barbecues, scary costumes, sleepovers, school science projects, and Thanksgiving and Christmas ingurgitaters,
giving you countless memories to draw warmth, hope, and comfort from,
which you’ll need frequently on this grueling journey called life.

She did so, deliberately and strategically, knowing you would but also to show you the moments that truly matter — the blessed occasions The Maker lends us freely.

And, you don’t even call her every Sunday…

You’ve got better things to do.
The football game is on. I have to make sure my presentation is ready for work tomorrow. I gotta finish watching this Netflix series. The weekends are for the guys or the gals. There’s nothing for us to relate and talk about…
like she already hasn’t been your age and seen more than you can imagine.

You hurt her!

And…yet…she wouldn’t go back and change a thing.
She’s a bigger fan of yours than any friend or job or damn sports team…will ever be, and she’ll root for you with her last breaths or her last hour.

The absolute least you can give her is a whole day…not a card…not flowers…not a call…a whole…friggin…day.

All it will take is one day, in her name…and she’ll forget you ever hurt her.

From the Soul,

#MothersDay #Poetry #TheStormyPoet #WRT #WordsmithsAndReadersOfTarrant #Poem #LiteraryArt