Our definitions
always were
from different
dictionaries.
Your kindnesses
would become
my debts,
and they would bankrupt me.
Each of them,
loudly lamented
sacrifices,
that you made.
So that us kids
could have it better,
have it easier,
than you.
We had a roof
over our heads,
we had clothes,
and we had food.
Expecting
anything else
would be ungrateful,
and selfish.
Because being
someone’s mother
is the most selfless
act there is.
Especially
when they weren’t yours,
when you chose
to take them in.
Out of the sheer
generosity
of your good,
Christian, heart.
But what you
labelled ‘discipline’,
if we are honest,
was abuse.
And what you saw
as a burden,
was a choice that
you had made.
So what you call
a sacrifice,
I would know
as paper.
And even you know
that paper
isn’t how we
measure
love.
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