The Mother God Made You

Much of my motherhood

Hangs on high notes

Stressed by comparison

Pictures of competency,

not me.

No one screams to me insufficiency,

Except myself.


Professional doctor,

Administrative organizer,

Eloquent tongue,

Organic chef,

Wise teacher,

Edgy artist,

Playful child,

Home designer.


Called to be all things,

To three people.

Wife & Mother.

My days cannot contain these high notes.

My ears and heart fracture by the squeal.


I sit in the corner and cry out.


The Spirit speaks: be you.


Be me?

But I am not most of these,

How will my children know you?

How will they learn to read?

How will they heal from disease?

How will they enjoy their home?

How will they be healthy?

How will they learn creativity?




I know all these things.

I know all they truly need.

I know your needs too.

I have given them you. You.

Not someone you are not.

My plans for their lives include who you are,

Not who you are not.

I picked you as their mother,

So be the you I made.

I form my creation in many ways.


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