For you, Mom.


You used to always say to me

you are gold.

I never understood what you meant

but being older now,

I realized

you would say these words

when I forgot how precious I was 

because that dumb boy 

didn't know how to commit

because he didn't know

how to love

because I was stuck on the idea 

that if he couldn't love me

then I couldn't be loved

as if it were my fault 

that he was incapable

of such an emotion

as if the love from another human being 

determined my self-worth

but I now understand

that you constantly said 

you are gold

as a way to remind me 

that the best form of love 

comes from no one

but myself.


This poem is about: 


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