My Children Will Be Light and Thunder
My children will be wild—
not reckless, but true.
They will be fire-fed and water-wise,
with roots deep in the earth
and eyes full of stars.
They will not be easy to define.
Not small enough to fit in the world’s boxes.
They will question what they’re told.
They will rise when they’re doubted.
They will walk with wonder and power,
and still offer their hands to those who’ve fallen.
They will not be tamed
for anyone’s comfort.
They will speak,
even when it shakes their voice.
They will feel,
even when it breaks their hearts.
They will know that gentleness is not weakness,
and love is not something earned by shrinking.
You will not silence what I have raised in truth.
They will carry my failures and my love in equal measure.
They will know I am not perfect—
but that I showed up anyway,
again and again,
with open arms and a fierce heart.
I will hold their hands
through scraped knees and soul-deep sorrow.
I will remind them that they are worthy,
even when they forget.
And when they ask who they are,
I will say:
You are a storm wrapped in sunlight.
You are the prayer I didn’t know how to say.
You are mine, and more than mine.
I will love them
from before their first breath
to long beyond my last.
They will be dangerous—
because they know their worth.
They will be holy—
because they live from their hearts.
They will be light and thunder,
grace and grit,
all at once.
Not because they are mine,
but because they are who they were born to be.
M