Ageless pages, in words transform,
Who are you to be so adorable?
Dreaming in daylight, waking in sleep;
Cherub cheeks and supple skin,
Bright eyes so blue and curious,
A baby giggling, gurgling.
So mysterious, you came from —
A woman who wouldn’t mother you;
Maybe she couldn’t? Or perhaps, she refused?
But I wonder how she shut herself off from you?
Leaving your beautiful face, curious reflection
Your cutesy, adorable infant-self,
Imprinting on another woman.
We all know you’re little, need protection,
We need remember you’re delicate, cuddle you close.
She didn’t know; how could she not?
How did she leave?
And when you were adopted and grew,
Did you care anymore? Yet being so small,
The new woman before you, you loved.
She became the lights in your eyes, the stars in your sky,
Until half-grown one day, walking with friends,
You overheard parents talking of you –adopted?
Such conflicting feelings and such anger,
Wrapped in teenaged angst.
Why didn’t she want you?
She gave you away;
You’re mad at the woman who raised you,
Your real mother, but not by blood.
Because in your adopted mother’s face you see,
The face of the one who left you alone.
On those cold wet cement steps (you learn),
Before you could do anything.
Defenceless, you imagine yourself a babe,
Left to die — or be found by someone horrible.
But you are here and here you are.
The day you find your first mother,
The biological one you loath,
You see the drug affects, the needle tracts,
On her arms, the scars, and the abuse.
Forty-something woman seems as if she’s sixty hard-lived.
Skin as leather, smoker’s cough, raspy voice,
Shows you a picture of a much prettier woman,
Her so young, walking the wrong path.
Now she’s smiling and patting your hand,
So relieved you’ve come to see her now.
One wonderful and beautiful thing she birthed.
She erases the rage you’ve acquired,
Makes you feel not so mad because you know,
She didn’t want you to be her one day.
So she did what she had to do for you —she sacrificed.
And you mourn for her, for you —
All the time you wasted hating.
When at home lives your real mother,
And before you lies a stranger,
Your biological connection to her dying.
A string formed between you of DNA;
A reason she gave you up,
To live and thrive through life a better way.
So, young one, I hope you do.
Your second chance,
Has always been yours.
©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.