A Mother

I could be her mother. 
Blue orbs of lightning love promise. 
I could be her mother. 
Protect her from the shadowy figures 
wanting sex 
and to do drugs with her. 
It’s hard to love a feral child.
It’s hard to love an unwanted child. 
It’s hard to even see a child;
scared shitless and invisible for so long.
But if I never get to be anyone’s mother but her’s,
would it be so awful? 
If you trace the indents directly,
I haven’t been all that nurturing.
Her face reminds me of failure.
Her skin reminds me of unrelenting anxiety. 
Her body reminds me of unsatisfactory 
written so abruptly on papers 
you’ve felt 
you’ve aced 
this entire time. 
I could be her mother. 
Support her art 
and cradle her in my arms at 3 a.m. 
When everything inside her head feels too much.