Todo Para Ti, Preciosa

My mother gave me to the world
She let me be free to just be
My mother gave me to the world
I didn't want it but I needed it.
Sometimes things you don't want have to be
For greater purpose
a more refined message
different sides of the same coin

My mother gently laid me out for the world
I wondered where she went —
Anxiously playing the whole world's girl

My mother wrapped me as a lovely gift —
A conduit for what she couldn't do
couldn't say
couldn't enjoy
couldn't end
couldn't have

My mother took my hand, pointed to the sand
and the mountains,
and her cooking,
and the skies,
and told me it was all mine

Throat on fire, my mother lovingly handed me away.

Is it bad of me to say I want one-on-one holding?
Why it feels lesser to have opportunity?
If I could have stayed at home, I think I could've been more whole.

Sometimes we can't look at gifts in the way we should.
Like a relationship near its death,
a long sleeve when you prefer short sleeves,
silent apologies in the form of half-hurting gestures.

If I am the gift, can I be loved?
Unwrapped and unharmed.
When was the last time any of us felt that?