Mother's day poem

I cried on mother's day. I saw a baby wrapped in their mother's arms. I waited for the feelings and thought of cute, and sweetness. I didn't expect to feel anger.

Anger at myself, or I suppose the situation in which I've lived. Anger at the idea I was served a plate of fear and fighting instead of love. Dodging fists instead of kisses. Holding my breath listening to footsteps to see where I needed to hide instead of a game past down through generations. I felt so much anger, and I didn't know why. Speaking to my wife, I finally came to the conclusion it was because I was longing. Angry that I missed out on being loved. Angry that I wish now I could be wrapped up by someone and kisses and held safe, not in a way my wife gave, but close. My wife told me you shouldn't pay for affection, it's a basic human biology to want love, it's in our DNA to want love. Love is transactional, that's all's I learned as a child. I know that now it is unconditional. I feel wrong to be so old and want love a child should want. I wish I could go back and be that way again. Not in my own life, but through the eyes of a child, little, feeling of what we now we call nostoligia, watch cartoons and bake without being scared every second I was being too loud, that my laugh would cause an outburst and large heavy foot steps would pound down the stairs. Stepping on egg shells in my house. I learn love was transactional... But I was wrong, or I suppose I learned wrong.

I want that feeling back, that empty innocence. Big blue eyes looking into the world with curiosity.

I vaguely remember, that feeling where I could breath. It was there at one point I'm sure. I don't know what I would call it now, I've wracked my brain to think of the word. Coming to the conclusion that uninhibited was close, uncluttered was closer still.

Uncluttered with the expectations of living years. The empty innocence, not hollow, just not defending yet