Written to the prompt... When one mother cries, we all cry? Mother Dear My childhood hero, Baroness Floella Benjamin. Doesn't know it but gave me hope with a smile. A woman. The first teacher to really open my mind Dr Rossena Bakari. ( My favourite poet too) A woman. First to encourage me to finally speak what's inside. Leah Abraham A woman First connection, real understanding of my adverse childhood times Sara Almaraz. A woman My muse, my spiritual guide Val Dupre A woman My mentor, whose words and wisdom guide me every day. Dr T Williams A woman. The love of my life, Alex my wife A woman. All amazing mothers too. Everywhere I look; Even Zen Publishers sorting my book (Fill in the blanks 🙂) Amazing women and mothers too. But the twist, you knew it was coming along. Like an itch I cannot resist. The first oil painting I ever did was of a mother A mother carved from stone. Forced to be a mother by god, when just a child. Is that why, when one mother cries, we all cry? Don't cry for mine, her tears, fake every time Perhaps I should avoid prompts about mothers? When the only example I had as a child is mine. I was trafficked by my mother as a child, before I was five. Freedom. “Freedom is no fear,” Nina was so wise, a mother too. I have no fear of what was or is. But not just because my mother beat me daily, to make me comply, Is the freedom I seek, not wholly yet mine. There is no freedom whilst in fear of what may still arrive. For the fun of others, humiliated and sold her child, Trade in children still goes on, though my mother is now gone I fear future harm, will be inflicted on children It is rooted and nurtured in society's own fear of truth. Thrown on the streets when she saw no more use Powerless? The most dangerous truths power works hardest to supress She screamed don't come crawling back. Still the exploitation of children is just a money thing. Like so many additives, acceptable sin. School said keep them informed.