Mom Me Poem by Annie Carmona

She is afraid of everything.
She is wisdom without expression.
She is creativity with no more drive.
She is love with no more tolerance.
She is empathy with no more effort.

Incessant chatter and talking
to herself belies the profound prose,
beauty and poise she once posessed.

Her body is broken and frail
yet she still carries the weight of
the world on her back.

She aspires to reach the ears of reason
and move the heart of apathy.
She wants badly to educate the minds
of those she seldom makes room for
anymore and her desire burns her soul.

She's full of contradictions
and packed with staples and tidbits too.
The tidbits come at odd times and seem
disconnected yet meaningful.

I close my right eye as she sits to my right.
I can't stand what I see but I say nothing.
I feel so guilty and try so hard to not show
how hard this is for me.
Mothering should be effortless. Loving your mother
should be effortless. Caring for your child should
be effortless. A child caring for a mother should be
effortless...but it's not.

If this time is about her...why do I feel like it's about me?

She understands I think-because she is my Mom.