my mother,
did not carry
me through the
mountains or rivers
for 9 months.
but i am still her
daughter.
until she remembers
i do not share the same
crimson in my veins
or share her mr. potato
shaped nose --
or her bat them away
eyelashes that
my brothers and sisters
inherited from her.
but she is my mother.
even when she forgets
that i am her daughter.
YOU ARE READING
Balloon Thoughts
Poetryher world didn't hang on a thread. instead in the air, full of helium.
