Poem: How I wish she raised me

holding childs hand

Oh how I wish she raised me,

As her daughter.

How I wished she named me,

My mother’s only wish would have come true,

like most other mothers,

But that day does not come soon.


I just wish for the both of us.

That time could have healed our disappointment.

Yet time can not be bothered by how you use it.

Spend it wisely.

Spend it evolving.


From the little ribbon in my hair.

To the way she would hold my hand.

From the resemblance between us.

To the way she would make a fuss.


Am I latching on to something sincere,

Or has society flooded our minds with tainted ideals?

Forcing us into believing that we should feel something

That we should live someway

To think certain things are TRUE.





The relationships we create on earth

Are ours to nurture till we reach beyond the physical.

A beautiful soul on a beautiful day

Has no restrictions on gender

No restrictions on ethnic background

No responsibility to conform

No judgement on religious beliefs

No shame about their sexuality

No pretense in this lifetime role.


So no longer does it matter

If I became a daughter to a mother

That I have been a child to for a lifetime.

And she a mother to a daughter.

Eva Van Der Heyden