My mom used to read me stories every night.
She would tell me that every book has a lesson, every writer a secret.
She said that life was a question and that books were clues to help me find the answers.
She was the one who made me love to write
Unravel my heart onto pages, and never be afraid to express myself.
She said that my voice was my strength and I must make sure it was heard.
A sooting sound in the midst of the aggravating noise of the crowd.
My mom was the first to show me the beauty in the little things.
She’d make up names for the colors of the sunset, listen to the sound of the birds and wonder who they’re singing to.
She’d take me to our little garden and compare my hands to the leaves, tracing both our veins.
She showed me how two completely different things could be so similar, that while I was unique, a distinct being, I was a part of something so much greater than me and her.
She said that I had an obligation to the leaves, I must do our veins justice.
From the moment I was born she has taught me to be resilient
Stand tall against whatever comes my way.
She said not to worry
That my moments of weakness don’t define me, that I am more than the instances where I can not help but cry.
My mom wipes away my tears.
She tells me that as her daughter I have inherited her leaky eyes
But I have also inherited her smile.
For more short poems check out my page Things Never Said: