Made it

 

I had no power to be your twin,
to make a bright new sun stream in
or let the longed for end begin.

I could not get inside your skin
to bear the pain, with just a grin,
of life so worn and paper thin.

You had the power to draw me near
and whisper, knowing I would hear
your disappointment and your fear.

I had no power to wriggle free.
Is this how love is meant to be,
always a twig, never a tree?

If you could see what I’ve become,
would you smile or raise your thumb?
Shame you’ll never know I made it, Mum.