Blood: Stains and Veins

I’ve come to terms with the fact that you are as clueless as I am, that there are too many of your firsts demanded not as one, and that you can’t say that they’re wrong because that means you’re admitting your mistake — you don’t want to. But you can’t fool me. I know you.

I’ve made my peace with the fact that sometimes we are too similar, and there’s nothing I could do to change my core, except polish it into a better version that we, I hope, see. I don’t know if you pay attention to that detail, but many, many of my heartbeats root deep in things you hold dear and embody.

I love you, even though you don’t understand things or unintentionally fail at keeping track. I love you through your forgetful way of caring and reckless actions. I love you still, I love you more. Thank you for loving me loudly. I’ll remember. I’ll hear. Keep saying them.

A poem by Maia Baia (source: Tumblr)

Poem by Jasmine Mans, “Speak to Me of My Mother, Who Was She” (2023)

Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers in the world,
those who try their best to,
those who acts like one without any bloodline,
those who aspires to be.