Ma and Pa

What made me

wasn't a pair of hands

or the work

of an artist

painting colors

on a white canvas,

it wasn't a matter of fate,

in the way fate makes destiny.

It was all the things,

the mothers who didn't know

they were mothering me,

the friends that drew

the figure in the mirror.

It was the bit by bit,

the hits, the squeezes,

the touch that could stop time,

the smolder, the cold,

the lost moments

staring me in the face.

It was the everything,

only made possible

by ma and pa.

They made me,

they didn't,

but they made it real