Timid, shy, little girl with the light auburn hair
Her gaze is fixed on something in the distance
Donning a sunny yellow dress
With a pink bow that adorns her neck

A bonny child who liked to
Hide away from others
To spend time drawing swing sets
Over and over again
Adding more swings to the picture each time

Looking for acceptance, eager to please
Since the time she was crawling on her hands and knees
The golden child who was unsure of herself
Loyal to her parents and to her friends
Too bad some of them took advantage
Of such a quiet, kind heart

Grabbing her pencil, oil pastels, paintbrushes
And every other instrument under the sun of creativity
Taking to the blank, white canvas
Somehow she is able to make a masterpiece

Yet everyone has their fiend
Social anxiety is hers
Anthrophobia left her paralyzed
In crowds of strangers
And worried of wandering critical eyes

She is as reflective as a monk
Philosophical as to the meaning of life
She has the feeling that what she believes is right
Even though she was the middle child
She never allows us to feel lost
A shrink that I can go to and at no cost
Never once has she doubted me
But rather she’d push me to shine
A bright star which radiates a glorious light

A dear friend of mine until the end of time
Creating beauty with each fine line
My mother.