I Love My Mother

I love my mother.

She’s just like me:

both of us born stubborn 

and born to be free.

I have her mannerisms

and her figure,

and she likes it on me,

but she says it’s bad on her.

And it’s kind of confusing

when we are the same,

but she’s the one who’s supposed to change.

And when I try to advise

or compliment the same way,

I’m told that it’s different

for a woman her age.

I love my mother,

she is just like me.

And when I learned to love myself

I wished she’d see herself the way that I do.

That we are not machines to be fixed,

but people to be loved

and the love that she has for me,

she should have for herself

because she was here first.

The love I feel for her and myself

is because they occurred at my birth:

the same amount of time with them both

and that’s why I love them with equal girth.

I love my mother

and she’s just like me,

and I really love me.