Mother sits alone in her room.

She cries for her daughters.

She cries for her husband.

She cries for herself.

Her sobs muffled by her acetone laced sleeves,

she tells herself to pull it together.

Be strong for her children when she can’t be strong for herself.

She hides her worry.

She hides her suffering.

She hides her pain.

I want to tell her I see her. 

The mask she hides behind 

Has cracked

And the glue is chipping. 

I see you mom.

Six days a week.

Ten hours a day.

My mother smells of strangers and rubbing alcohol.

Pain laces her bones and muscles.

Her tiredness painted under her eyes.

I feel my mother let out a sigh of relief 

when I pull her close after a long day.

I tighten my arms around her arms.

An unspoken thank you hangs on my lips

She fights for a future she couldn’t have.

A future she won’t know,

and every day I can’t help but think,

One day, 

Just one day, 

I wish I could even be half the woman my mother is.