by Wendy Elizabeth Hart
|Image: JMF 84|
Mother. The word. I had to redefine it. Realign it. Take what was mine of it. Because the example left in my heart from growing up was so desolate, I wanted nothing from it.
Now I understand it. I demand it. For my babies. What was to be, for me. But never was, might never be. But that's ok.
Suffering has changed me, rearranged me, simply made me what I could not be with out it's exquisite bite; caused sleepless nights, seemingly endless fights, with myself and in the end...
Made me bend, made me extend to a place I had no idea I could go. So really, I am to be thankful for this handful of messed up tales, truly.
For there was no other road to the heaven I am in now.