When people talk about raising their kids,
it's a strange concept,
imagining myself as an under-watered,
under-fed root,
slowly lifted by hands
that nurture me.
But, I didn't always see and feel
their hands.
Instead, confusion colored
and corroded my habitat,
a ravenous outlet of anger,
extracting the comfort
I used to know.
I grew, with able hands
at my side,
yet alone in every
pocket within.
