Harbours and Storms

Being his mum is walking a hard road,
a road of long nights, tight fists, and quiet tears,
of picking up the shattered pieces he leaves behind.
It is fierce love wrapped in frustration,
harbor and storm in equal measure,
saying no a thousand times while hoping he hears it once.
It is holding him to the line,
even when it tears your heart in two,
even when he tests every boundary.
It is staying awake through his midnight cries,
tracing the quiet tremor in his sleep.
Being his mum is both cradle and crucible,
and in the quiet afterward,
you carry love’s weight and its battle scars.