I see you now, Mum

You never let yourself be soft.

Soft things break,

soft things get left behind,

soft things get taken.

So you made yourself a fortress—

steel-spined, fire-tongued,

a woman who holds her own wounds

like weapons.

*

I used to wonder why you were always at war.

Why love, to you, was a battlefield,

why silence meant attack,

why kindness was questioned like a trick,

why you fought even when no one was fighting.

*

I used to think you wanted to be alone.

That you chose the emptiness,

pushed people out like a house fire,

locked the doors and swallowed the key.

*

But now I see—

it wasn’t loneliness you wanted,

it was control.

To be the one who leaves first,

who builds the walls higher,

who never gives anyone the chance to say,

“I don’t want you.”

*

I see now how love looked to you—

like a hand curled into a fist,

like a blade hidden in a smile,

like a lesson in survival.

You taught yourself to be both shield and sword,

never needing, never yielding.

*

And I—

I learned to stand like you,

to hold my ground,

to speak with the weight of a storm,

to swallow softness like it was poison.

But I am tired, Mum.

Tired of the armour,

tired of the fight.

*

I see you now.

I see the battle you never left.

I see the woman who swore she’d never lose again.

*

And I wonder if you remember

what peace even feels like.

And I hope you let down,

The heavy weight of life’s gruesome fight

That sadly caused your enlarged heart.

*

And I wonder if you remember

what true love feels like.

If you know that strength is not just in fists clenched,

not just in voices raised,

not just in standing your ground when no one is coming for you.

*

I wonder if you see the way your body has carried the war,

how your heart—swollen, tired, heavy—

has borne the weight of wounds you never let heal.

*

And I hope, before it’s too late,

you let down the armor,

put down the fight,

let something softer hold you for once.

*

Because even the strongest hearts

can only bear so much.