Mommy, why are my hands so small?
Why does everyone say I look like you when I don’t see it at all?
Why do you say I have ocean blue eyes
and run your hands through my hair when it’s nothing but dry?
Mommy, why do you laugh when I talk
and hold out your hands while I’m trying to walk?
What do you mean when you say you missed me
or hover over my crib as I drift off to sleep?
Mommy, why are you sending me away
to this giant castle where I’m restricted from play?
Why did you send me to school
where I can’t run around and act like a fool?
Mother, why are you in my room?
Talk to the hand, I don’t follow your rules.
Why are you blocking the door?
I’m just going out; I’m no longer four!
Mother, stop being my ‘friend’
My hands push you away. God, when will this end?
Mother, are you finally proud?
It’s my graduation day; you better be loud.
Mom, why am I growing so fast?
It was just yesterday when you held my hand.
Mom, why do you look so sad?
The tears make your ocean blue eyes expand.
Mom, it’s my wedding! Let’s dance.
Come take my hand; we’ll embarrass Dad.
Mom, when will I see you again?
You’re welcome to visit whenever you can.
Mommy, what will I do when you’re gone?
“Look at your hands. I’m in the lines of your palm.”