When you shared my graduation frame, your friend looked twice and said my name— a perfect copy, she claimed with glee. How similar are we, Mother, can’t you see? You never yield to rage or spite, your patience glows in morning light. Praised or mocked, you stand so free, they say I do the same— How similar are we, Mother, can’t you see? You love your words, your tattered page, where stories bloom and feelings age. I type my pulse through poetry, each verse a sigh that mirrors thee. How similar are we exactly, Mother, can’t you see? You weep with ease, you fall with grace, our hearts both soft, too quick to race. We breathe through pain, not rationale, for love’s our root, emotional. Now I know how it feels to be born of you, to carry your strength, your tender hue. You raised belief, the light in me, taught love must bloom wholeheartedly. You knock on souls and let them glow, made me stubborn to let false love grow. I’ll never settle for half a heart— you didn’t, right from the start. How similar are we, Mother, can’t you truly see?