The Vision

I had a vision of who she could be—
Glorious and kind and motherly;
But it wasn’t her vision, it was mine.

I gave her children, a home, and my love—
A place where the vision could flourish;
But it wasn’t her vision, it was mine.

She tried to fulfill that vision—
It was beautiful and grand and laudable;
But it wasn’t her vision, it was mine.

I celebrated her like a queen—
And showered her with praise;
But it wasn’t her vision, it was mine.

She felt small and weak within that vision—
Not because she was inferior;
But because it wasn’t her vision, it was mine.

Now she walks her own path of self-discovery—
And I can let her go;
Because she now lives her vision, not mine.