Caught

My mind writhes with
words to write. If
only I had the time to
and the freedom to
let it run wild for
hours at a stretch to
get it all out without
frequent demands that
often interrupt.

We sit together,
your head on my arm. You
ask me if I will
always love you.
But my question is, will
you always love me? Am
I mother enough to
balance our needs, all
yours as a child and
mine as an adult?

Guilt has me in
its humid embrace and
halts my growth as
your mother and as
the writer deep within.
How to blend my
love for you and
my creative drive to
satisfy us both?
I can’t help but
feel caught.