I’m weary of my flailing child. I feel disheartened to the core. I know she’ll shoot her foot again— those self-inflicted chosen wounds. I’m not sure if I want control, I know I sure don’t have it. I love and long to keep her close, and shelter her with wise advice. I’m so perplexed when she insists on authoring her own mistakes. The year is new, and I must be remade to show what’s possible. I must get my act composed, give up on pulling puppet strings. I’ll cast a vision and let go, imagining on her behalf the butterfly she can become.
I’m teary-eyed because I am living this; my used-to-be-sweet and happy child, now an adult who’s totally entrenched in this gender cult💔😢 and I love her to death.
"I must get my act composed,
give up on pulling puppet strings." That's where I am trying to get to. I pray she finds her way through and out, as I have no infuence to guide her.
I’m teary-eyed because I am living this; my used-to-be-sweet and happy child, now an adult who’s totally entrenched in this gender cult💔😢 and I love her to death.
I feel helpless; my faith sustains me.
Very moving poem.
You have captured the phrases/words that seem to be coming from my shattered heart.
I miss my little butterfly.
I miss my beautiful girl.
Same here
I'm crying :(