Being Yourself Is A Superpower

My mother asked me
“How is it that I find the time to walk away
From all that I have loved?”

From the atmosphere
of heated pain and joy, a response shyly limped out like an exposed thief whispering something
like this:

“Time like a salted wound thus to haunt nonetheless,
modification and fabrication
comes like a storm.
Twilight yearns still
to be fixed and
moonlight gazes not to finish…
But time like a great
gyroscope from the gods
Nothing goes to
stay out of lay

All that I have loved has overgrown like weed.
I cannot remember the reason for this garden
Am I grooming weed?
All that I have loved knew only to take and eventually I ran out,
we all do, Mom.”

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