your energy is intoxicating
if this is addiction
i don't ever want to be sober

my mother is both my stagehand
and my audience.
when the stage lights burn out,
she will be there to drive the darkness
back into the corners.
when the flimsy backdrop crumbles,
she will build a new world for me
while cleaning up the ruins of the old.
she will wipe the exaggeration from my face,
and still applaud when I am myself.

my mother is both the moon and the sun.
her voice brightens the cloudiest days
and her laughter is a warm embrace.
out of all of the stars in the galaxy,
she is the one that keeps me alive.
when the day comes to an end,
and all I can see is night,
she will pull back the waves
when I feel like I am drowning.

my mother is everything.
she is the water that nourishes these roots.
she is the reason love grows
from this family tree.

my laughter has been waiting to meet you
—a withering thing in a hospital bed.
all of the flowers and cards littering the floor
couldn't bring it out of its coma,
but all you had to do was introduce yourself.

you feel like coming home
after spending so many nights sleeping in beds
of people without names.
you feel like a warm light
after spending so many months trapped
underneath a gray sky.

I never felt like I could live
in the sound of someone's voice,
but now, I'm realizing it is the address
to the place I've been homesick for.