You are growing wiser yet seem to need me more
these days. You are growing shyer–which puzzles me.
Is there something I am missing?
Sometimes I just want to say enough:
Enough with the questions and repetitions of
the same questions, enough with the need for constant–
constant reassurances, enough with the questioning,
enough with the relentless talking, enough with the
need to know it all rightnowthisveryminute.
“Just go with the flow.”
You measure my every reaction–
right down to my facial expressions.
But it is my inactions that disgust you.
Sometimes I think you are nothing like me.
Sometimes I think that you are so much like me that I cringe.
Your perception and intuition are keen and strong–
you notice everything.
Your sensitivity is deep–you feel every single
edge that you hear in my voice, even when
you are not the reason my voice is sharp. My
edges are so pointy, and, Lord help me,
I don’t always know how to soften myself.
I don’t always notice when you are hurting.
I don’t always have the right words within me,
or the right thoughts in my head.
I don’t always know.
I think I owe you an apology because for so long
I have regarded you more as my child instead of
just your beautiful, brilliant self.
I am getting better at that, but it is hard
because you reflect me back to myself and
sometimes I can’t help but react to that
reflection instead of just responding to you.
You who are creative and independent in thought
but insecure in word and deed.
You who are in one moment somber
but in the next singing.
You who are both somehow fickle
yet easy to please.
You who are both a puzzle and mystery
yet so very familiar to me.
I am watching, I am learning, I am growing with you.