MOTHER:

You look tired.

You’ve been running. Chasing.

Trying to prove something.

Trying to have it all, be it all, know it all.

But baby, I am sorry if I ever told you that was the point?

DAUGHTER:

Isn’t it?

Power, money, status—

Isn’t that what strength looks like?

MOTHER:

A version of strength that looks more like survival.

We are not supposed to fight like men, to speak louder, climb faster, grind harder.

We are suppose to listen to your womb, to rest in your knowing, to bloom without apology.

DAUGHTER:

But if I stop, won’t I fall behind?

Won’t I be forgotten?