No one tells you when you become a mother that your heart will learn to walk without you. That one day it will put on sneakers, shoulder a backpack, and disappear through a doorway you cannot follow it through.

Tomorrow, mine starts fourth grade. Nine years old, somehow still small enough that I can remember the weight of him sleeping against my chest, but big enough now to walk into a world where I won't always know what happens. That is the hardest part.

I would give him every piece of me if it meant the world could never take one from him. I would stand between him and every cruel word, every broken heart, every disappointment, every darkness he hasn't learned exists yet. I would fight monsters he doesn't even know to be afraid of.

Motherhood is the cruelest kind of love. You spend years teaching them how to fly while quietly wishing you could keep the sky from ever having storms.

You teach them to be brave while your own hands tremble. You tell them, "You are going to do great." when what you really want to say is, "Please be gentle with my heart today, he is carrying it in his backpack"

That is what he is. My heart, outside of my body. Walking into classrooms I cannot always enter. Making friends I cannot choose. Hearing words I cannot unhear for him. Fighting little battles I may never even know happened.

I know this is what I raised him for. I know I am supposed to be happy watching the baby disappear a little more each year and this incredible boy take his place, and I am.

Pride and grief have always lived strangely close together in motherhood. So tomorrow, I will smile. I will tell him how handsome he looks. I will remind him he has everything he needs. I will probably embarrass him with one hug too many. Then, I will watch nine years of my whole entire world walk away from me toward fourth grade.

I will let him go because loving him means knowing I cannot make the world harmless. I can only make sure he always knows where home is. I cannot fight every battle for him.I can only teach him that there is something inside him stronger than whatever darkness finds him and I cannot promise his heart will never break. I can only promise that if it does, he will never have to pick up the pieces alone.

The world gets a little more of him tomorrow. I suppose that is the beautiful, terrible bargain I made the day I became his mother. I brought him into this world knowing someday I would have to trust it with him, and tomorrow morning, I'll loosen my grip just a little more, while loving him enough to want to hold on forever.

I don't wear my glasses anymore

Not because I don't like them

I started wearing contacts long ago, but I wore my glasses on comfy days

On a day off when I just lounge around and play games

On cold nights when I would huddle down in my blankets with a movie or book

I don't wear them, not because I dislike them, but because you loved them

You told me I was handsome in my glasses, that I looked good

You told me they fit prefectly and I should wear them more

But now when I wear my glasses I only see the boy who you loved, the one you adored

I am no longer that boy, so I don't wear my glasses

No
no thanks
I'll pass
no I couldn't
it's not for me
I respectfully decline
no I wouldn't
like to share
(but you keep trying)
I really can't
I'm well beyond I shouldn't
it's to where
it crosses the line
to I won't,
no never
not for you
not for anyone
no matter how clever
you are
with your promises and lies
of how good it was before
no matter what the disguise
it's still no
and the more you insist
the more I'll resist
until you let go
and if you really want to know
I can tell you why
it's wrong
and show you
the damage it can do

Note: I want to share something today that I remembered I have written as I am coming to a transitionary point in my life once again. I will share the details without erasing anything or changing anything. These are what seem like call and response poems that I have accidentally made. I hope you are doing well today, good-willed stranger. Please continue to desire a purpose in life.

The Thirty-Second Poem (August 25, 2025).

As once was void,

Yet I long,

To be made again.

For the broken song,

Cannot be used in twain.

I have nothing,

To give my dear.

Reedit:

Aug29

I want to engage in us.

Something that's like -

I am but a part of you,

And you are but a part of me.

And we'll dance wild and subtle,

So close, that we seem to be one.

We are individual and together -

Loving so truthfully.

for the longest time now, i've fought many battles

have been defeated many days, perhaps won a couple few

but i've spent too much of my life in this war

and i wonder for how much longer do i have to fight

though i continue to drown in my own thoughts of hopelessness

small glimmers of hope shine through

the same way the rays of the sun bleed from behind the clouds on a gloomy day

i cry and fear to all of wit's ends

and yet despite the pain of it all, i somehow still dream

i dream of days when a deep breath is an act of relief and not one to relieve

i dream of days when the warmth from inside me burns steadily like the fire inside a hearth, unlike the forest fire that sets ablaze my heart

i dream of days when the arms that wrap around me belong to the person i love, not just those of the broken person i am teaching myself how to feel loved

i dream of the day the war ceases

and to live to see that having hope is not all that hopeless