I am Less Scared Than My Mother

I am less scared than my mother, I think

Of gray hair, and gentle wrinkles, and hands pruning in the sink.

For her they’re a looming future, something to escape,

Age stealing away her sparkling eyes and making her skin crepe.

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It was a stonework expectation, a solid guarantee,

She does not seem to understand it’s not that way for me.

I never thought I’d live to see my days past one and twenty,

I never thought my eyes would fade or I’d count my years aplenty.

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She tries to hide the silver, she tries to fill the creases,

She acts as though she’s broken and she’s gluing back the pieces.

But I see them as a story, one to be told and not be hid,

And wish she’d wear them proudly, not as a curse to be undid.

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I rejoice into my mirror if I see a silver hair,

And hope that I’ll live enough to see another there.

For I live inside a world where my mind is often not my own,

And it whispers hopeless melodies that make the grave look like a home.

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My mother has more worries, sure, she is a mother after all,

And she must guard her children from a sinful world’s dark thrall.

But I am less afraid, I think, because I never thought I’d have much life,

I’ve held its fragile threads before, in my other hand a knife.

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I never thought I’d live to think that I am worthy of one’s love

I never thought I’d live to say I’d rather be here than above.

I long to see my body fail, it will mean I gave my best,

And it will mean that long at last, I’ll have rightly earned my rest.

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I am less scared than my mother, ‘cause I've had to fight for extra years,

Though I know not what they offer, I'll welcome laughter, hope, and tears

I am less scared of the scarring, the aging, and the pain,

Because as long as my heart’s beating, I will know there's more to gain.