Tempered glass is what she makes,
Clear and strong like no other;
And as it so eloquently breaks,
The softness and caring pour out of a mother
That has always put everyone else as #1
And forgets herself while treating others;
Her cries for acceptance and just being done
With the things she accepts, becoming smothered;
To finish what she so willingly begun,
In a fit of distempered youthful arrogance covered
By a numbness not unlike all the suns
In a galaxy no one cares about;
To escape her doubts
And find a termination
To all the sadness’ and droughts
Brought on by something more meaningful than her,
Yet less somehow in the cascading sheets of her life.
She presses on, determined to win
The thing which she cannot win;
With a million fights, yells, and clamoring
About the things which keep her stammering
As to why her sin isn’t a win within all the things she cares about.
And as I sit, wondering
How her strength isn’t plundering,
She may be the strongest person I’ve known;
She’s reaped less than she’s ever sown,
She given more than she could ever own
Just to make others happy, down to her bones.
Drained and depleted,
But -never- defeated
Because that’s who she really is.
My favorite person...