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She looks like me.

She’s young and she’s old.

She’s short and she’s tall.

Her skin is soft, sometimes wrinkled, and sometimes not.


Her eyes are dark hazel like the smooth mocha chino that she likes to  drink,

And that I steal sips from.

Her hair is thick, thin, long and short.

Her voice is loud, and at times soft


She knows when she’s right and sometimes doesn’t like to admit when she’s  wrong,

She’s hard, but most times she’s strong.

She never tells me when she’s sad,

And tries to hide her fears behind her beautiful smile.


She prepares me for the world but at times can be too overprotective,

She teaches me about self-respect and self-confidence.

And when she’s not looking, I put on her shoes, and pretend I’m her.


She supports my hopes and dreams

She cheers my art, ballet and sport, but not always my choice of music.

She makes sure I do my chores, and tells me to stay away from the boys.


I drive her up the wall

And it makes her feel like she’s lost all control

She’s never prepared for the adolescent talk, but tries to trust me,

And hopes I look before I fall.


Sometimes I get mad at her and want to be alone.

But she always finds my hiding place,

In the closet, in the basement, and sometimes out on the lawn.

She tickles the anger out of me, and it puts a smile on my face.

When I cry, she holds me tight,

And tells me everything’s gonna be alright.


She lies next to me when I’m sick,

And gives me the look when I think I’m slick.

She doesn’t always say she loves me,

But I can tell,

When she scolds, laughs or hugs me.


We don’t always see eye to eye,

But it doesn’t always mean we’re saying goodbye.



She’s my friend and my foe,

She’s my role model.

She’s my mother, and one day she, will be me.
For my Ma.


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