She cooked with love  
but not In the way that most people  
think Of such things when they say it    
  
It wasn't that you could taste her love  
In the flavor or even that she loved to cook  
It was that there were always leftovers  
  
Sometimes that meant more of our favorites  
Like homemade pizza for breakfast on Saturday  
And sometimes it meant more meatloaf  

But what it always meant was there was room  
At the table for another chair or two or three  
That it never felt like an imposition to share a  
Meal or the warmth around the table with someone  
Who needed it and our friends stayed more than  
They left when she called “suppers ready”  
  
It meant that there was always food in the  
Fridge ready to be reheated and doled out  
to hungry Teenagers whether they belonged  
To her or not and that “no thanks” or “I'm fine”  
Just meant she moved to the next shelf  
and tried again until there was a “sure”  
  
And as the years went on it never changed  
Just the people around the table
There was always a friend or a neighbor  
Who would gladly fill those seats because  
Mom always cooked with love  
And there were always leftovers

Happy Mother’s Day to all the incredible women who rise before the sun, not for praise or recognition, but because they know no one else will. This is for the mothers whose names echo only in the quietest rooms, whispered by children too young to understand the weight you carry. This is for the ones who pack lunches, hold jobs, juggle chaos, and wipe away their child’s tears while quietly fighting back their own. Who save their crying for the dark, stretch their last dollar so their children won’t go without, and wear the same coat so their kids can stay warm. To the mothers whose “thank you” comes far too late, if it comes at all. The ones called “nagging” before they’re ever called “wise.” The ones who feel invisible, yet never fail to show up. You love fiercely in silence, showing up again and again, even after heartbreak, exhaustion, or doubt. Today is your day. You are not unseen. You are not forgotten. You are the reason so many of us are still standing, still fighting, still hoping. And today, the world owes you its loudest and most heartfelt thank you.

So far as I see things today,
You cannot have a policy
Centered on ambiguity
And expect people
To take you at your word!
Even take you as being serious!

Seriously, you guys! Seriously!
There's a monster on the way!
To borrow from an absurdist, comedic series.

Yet, the point was lost anyways!

I’m not sure why I feel bad,
but I do.
A shy human,
I fear that my silence will speak louder
than my heart ever could.

I’m not ignoring those who liked,
loved, commented, reposted—
I see you, I do,
but my shyness keeps me
from finding the right words.

I should thank them,
but I’m stuck,
swallowed by my own reluctance.

I’ve been here before,
hesitant to share what’s not perfect,
scared it won’t fit the mold,
so I keep it hidden,
a secret between me and the page.

It’s easier to just press ‘like’,
to let my words stay trapped behind the screen,
than to find the right ones
that feel big enough to match their kindness.

I could message them, privately,
but that feels worse,
more intimate in its awkwardness,
and I’d only wish I could say it better
where they all could see.

So here I am,
apologizing in silence,
for all the gratitude
that never quite makes it out.

It’s funny
The way I
Stop breathing

When I see
You. Your face
Beautiful

Not even
A gasp can
Escape me