It’s hard raising a child on two dimes and a nickel. Filling her belling with canned peas and ice sickles.

Its hard.

Doing anything for dollar signs; hiding behind tear filled eyes. Constantly trying to protect her innocent life.

It is my duty, my pleasure, my purpose; never my curse. I take pride in your full belly, smiling face and all of your firsts.

But why am I subjected to do it alone. Why is a third generation the only father figure you have known?

No shade.

But a father is either going to be the rock or be a rolling stone. There is no in between. I just hope my single-motherhood is a phase and I am not subjected genetically.

Because I can’t bear the thought of an empty home. Me at work and you alone. Fending for yourself, as I work my fingers to the bone.

Always too tired to play, to listen, and to teach. Failing to speak and practice what I preach.

Then time repeats, itself. And another one bites the dust.

My crime would be knowing that I could have helped. But maintaining the material was a must.

Looking for love in all the wrong places; trying not to fall victim to lust.

Everyone seems sweet at first, trying to be a replacement. But because of the past, relationships seem to lack trust.

Getting lost in the hunt. Loving him, but walking hand in hand with another.

Forgetting the one. Her.

Snapping back to reality, you’re pleasantly surprised. Watching her change, and forgetting your cries. Forgetting him and all the reasons why.

Unconditionally in love. Inconsequently she comes above, him.

But in the end I win.

She is here under my wing, absorbing everything me. Taking in my essence and immortalizing my legacy.

I will not let time repeat itself, will not supply the problem and not help.

She is not to be another Jane Doe standing in line, two month pregnant and too small to show.

I have to break the chain. Allow her to grow up and follow her dreams. To understand the path I chose is beaten and unclean. But to prove to her that I can make it and that I am a queen.

This is for all of my single mothers, who fail to see their worth. Unsure of the future and trying to make the day to day work.

You mean more to the world now that your cub is breathing. Your mark on the world is a small, doe eyed child, take advantage of your season.

Image Source: MAXIMUSHKA, From A Wildflower Photo Contributor

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Samantha Halle
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