My Mama the caterpillar.

Here’s what I really see.

My Mamas a caterpillar.

Veraciously hungry.

For the truth.

She devours transcriptions

And the leaves of cooking book pages.

She’s a butterfly in the making.

And those leaves for her taking

She hungered for loving unconditional

She needed a butterfly to bring her the leave of knowledge she needed

To transcend her own arrangements.

To fatten her up with the true love she’s seek reflecting brightly.

Showing her who she was growing to be.

I brought her the leaves of nourishment to ascend her arrangement.

Contract fulfilled and now null and void.

Returns to natural status.

Listen. There’s no place like home. And home is no place. It’s a feeling. A knowing that’s in your gut and your bones. Home called me, Be-Linda back to Linda.

Jesus. Set the captives free. Free indeed.

And the blind see.

Caterpillars go blind when the melt into goo and turn into butterflies. They die and yet still live.

In some way my moms mind about me was suspended in a cacoon of some kind. Fresh butterflies need fresh foods that nourish the new aspects that have been born from trials and tribulations.

I’ve spoken truth and nourish the part of my own Mamas soul that is here I came from. Challenge accepted. I got what ya need despite the haters and dummies.

Daddy was a wild one that’s true. But he had some good moves. And I used them on you.

Your welcome. đź’‹

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