I want to be just like Mommy.
With a fitted dress stretched tight
Over her sole means to keep our dreams alive.
Her bleeding heart poured over her mouth,
Yet she smiled like a prom Queen .
Anger smoldered at her fingertips
As month after month
A younger face joined the race
And crowded her tiny bit of space.
Oh, Mommy I thought you’d be happy
To see me stepping into your shoes,
Ready to take the load off drooping shoulders
And get my very own prom King…
But you cried.
Written for Michelle’s Photo Fiction #56