Dear Mama

You'll leave me one day, I realize.
There's nothing that can prevent
or prolong your departure.
I'd like to think I'm ready to face
the world on my own, fearless
and completely and utterly independent.

You tell me I'm not yet independent,
that I have years to go before I realize
that I can never be fearless
and that fear isn't something I need to prevent.
Life isn't something to just face,
you say. It isn't just about departure.

But all that I know is departure,
and it's forced me to be independent
too early, far too soon I had to face
things that no child wants to realize.
But we weren't prepared to prevent
this tragedy, and I'm anything but fearless.

How can a child be fearless
when asked to deal with the departure
of the one who should be there to prevent
life pushing her to be independent?
The thing that you need to realize
is how hard it is for me to look at your face

because I know that I won't be able to face
it when you're gone and pretend that I'm fearless.
And I'm waiting for life to realize
that my biggest fear is your departure
and the fastest way to keep me from being independent
is the one no one can prevent.

I'd give anything to prevent
no longer being able to see your face
and although I like to say I'm independent
and I love to act like I'm fearless
the very thought of your departure
nearly kills me, I now realize.

Maybe soon you'll realize that you can't prevent
the damage of your departure and the scars on my face
that make me act fearless and try to be independent.