Everything I demand of her lately is an affront to who she is.
Be quiet. Stay focused. Get down. Sit still.
She was made to move.
She was made to leap and bound and climb.
Her eyes were made to follow the butterfly out the window,
not the stick on the chalkboard.
Her voice was made to laugh too loud,
her legs to run like mad,
her brain to ignore the caution I beg her to heed.
She was made for the charge,
to bridle her own steed,
and to try her mother’s patience.
She was made in my womb and she’ll always be mine,
but she wasn’t made for me.
© 2011
The Juice Bar 
I adore this Kay, I love your work! 🙂
Delicious! Perfect! Extraordinary! Brava!
Absolutely a beautiful poem! So to the point and so true. I identify 100% and will print this out as a good reminder.
Thank you so much!!
Loved it! So true, so true. It’s good for us to hear this and remember this. Each is a treasure, their own unique treasure.
Whoa Kay, you sure captured the essence of the struggle between a teenager and her mom. Great piece!
xoxo
Roz
And one day they fly away……. Wonderful words Kay!