Independent
twerp
September 18th, 2025
my mother is a wooden ladle
soaking up what’s
cooking.
stirring the bubbling
and
boiling
down to a soothing simmer.
she says to me often
as sharp as a splinter
that a cooking pot
Is useless
without its spoon.
but i think she’s
wrong
because I scorch all my fingers
grasping redhot on that pot
lift to my chin
and bask in that soupy glory
all by myself.
Amanda84
September 18th, 2025
@twerp
Your poem denotes a hint of feeling trapped, watched, controlled, told what to do .
But you have an inner strength and a desire to just simply be you and you know in your heart, that you can do it.
Powerful .
Thank you for sharing 💜💕
