I carry a weight no eyes can see,
A quiet storm that lives in me.
Every sharp word spoken fast,
Echoes louder than the past.
I tuck regrets in folded hands,
Whisper prayers no one understands.
Wonder if my love fell short,
If I broke the things I meant to support.
I replay moments like old film reels,
Haunted by the hurt each memory steals.
But underneath the guilt I keep,
Lives a love that runs soul-deep.
I’m human, flawed, I trip, I fall,
But I rise again to answer the call.
Because being a mom is messy art—
A masterpiece stitched from a breaking heart.
And even when I feel I’ve failed,
When shame and fear have both prevailed,
I’m still the place my children know—
The root, the truth, the safest home.
Mom guilt lingers like a shadow near,
But love speaks louder than the fear.
And every day I learn anew
That trying—truly trying—
Is enough,
And so am I.
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