Before I knew my own name,
I knew her voice.
Before I knew what love meant,
I was already living in it.
She's not just a woman,
She's my first home.
Her hands, my first shelter.
Her lap, my first sky.
She taught me how to stand
by letting me fall safely.
She taught me how to speak
by listening to words I didn't know how to say.
She taught me how to be kind
without keeping count.
How to be strong
without raising my voice.
And how to stay,
even when staying was hard.
She was the first to love me,
and she loved me in a way
that taught me how to love
everyone else, and finally, myself.
She's the first woman to love me.
My guide where I hold into when I feel scared.
People say "be independent, you're old enough!",
yet I'm still in her bed hugging her like she'll disappear when
I let go.
She's the first woman to love me.
She age older and older, so do I.
But her love never learned how to fade overtime.
She's the first woman to love me,
My mother, my only mother,
On earth and eternal place.