i see
those girls
your age
lurking around the local tim hortons
and my heart feels sick
as i listen to them curse jagged profanity
and cringe at their harsh giggles
and poorly done makeup....
and i think of you.
{my soft and sweet, my fuzzy peach cheeked...}
i hate to think of you
as hard
or jaded...
brittle
and mean.
those girls that look as tough as nails
but you know would shatter like glass
make my heart sink.
and i grieve for your fuzzy peach cheeks
as i compliment
your thick new mascara
that obscures your soft blue eyes
and you silently love me behind your teenage disguise.
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3 comments:
I am just not sure what I'm going to do... already The Boy is moody and surly at times. Sigh. I hope he never forgets we're here. The old parents. I hope he never becomes one of those boys.
Oh that was lovely, poignant and I felt what you are feeling. We never stop feeling this way as parents, which is both the blessing and the curse of being one.
This poem breaks my heart. It is the truest, realest poem about motherlove and teens that I've ever read. I LOVE this. Love it!
May I post it some day on my Sunday Morning Poetry?
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