I am not my mum
But my mum was me,
I can’t be in my mother’s shoes,
But she has the greatest empathy for me.

As a woman in her thirties,
Having a preteen daughter,
I can now see what my mum sees in me,

For I was her,
That girl in the same shoes,
Mskin choices and didn’t know what to choose,

Doubting myself and my ways,
For days and days,
Those memories don’t fade,

To see my girl,
Where I was in time,
For the choice’s she makes,
That are not mine,

For the path she chooses is no less or more,
It’s just another path this girl hasn’t yet explored.

Back to my mother,
Her empathy in uproar,
As she feels my pain,
As I lay with my boy,

She knows what I need,
She’s been here before,
She was the thirty year old girl,
Exploring the world.