We are, Our Mothers

What if I told you that I let her cry so I could write this.

What if I told you it wasn’t my first time.

What if I told you, I found failure in my nurturing, because I couldn't withstand the crying.

The quickening of my penmanship is the quickening of my heart.

It's also the volume of her cry.

And I wonder, which of these things will touch her,

or hit her,

because something will,

at some point,

into thinking I'm a bad mother.

And I write this because society needs to hear,

and I need to hear,

again,

that there is no perfect mother.

At some point, somewhere,

we need to stop blaming the Mothers.

Because,

we are, our Mothers.