From holding my moms hand

To letting her hand go

This process took a long time  

In the beginning, she held my hand tightly

When we crossed the dangerous streets,

When there were new people to meet,

When she sensed danger surrounding us,

And to show her endless love and support for me

And I held her hand back

But, as the years passed by, we slowly stopped holding hands

The slight separation over time stabbed me like a dart 

The bullseye was my heart

I understand this was the start of my individuality 

Making my own decisions and being accountabe for them 

Paying attention to my surroundings 

Ensuring safety for my loved ones

Because I knew, as we both grow old,

Her hand won't be there to hold