motherdaughter
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She loves me most when I’m
Not too close.
How bizarre
How I was once innermost
Far,
Below
Her navel- a scar,
Am I still a child?Still having to ask for permission when no one is aroundAnd being told "You're grown", but always being shut down?
She paused beside the coffin as a tear ran down her face.She gently touched-then held a hand; it's lines she softly traced.The same hand her father had once held upon a bended knee,as he nervously had asked the girl, “Will you marry me?”The touchi
She won’t listen when I say She’s like me in any way.She thinks she’s independent,but I know she’s not. She thinksShe’s better than me. That mightbe true, but I’ll never admit that.
