ICON

My Icon.

You shaped him,

built him up,

and carried it all alone.

Every bill.

Every weight.

Every responsibility.

You worked from dawn till evening,

came home

and kept going.

At work you were the leader.

At home you were the balance.

There your voice had power.

Here you carried the weight.

You lived between duty and escape,

between holding on and looking away.

Weekdays were duty.

Nights were retreat.

Sundays were distraction.

You didn’t really live.

You endured.

And somewhere in between

you tried to make it hurt less.

With the years

it got tighter.

You couldn’t leave.

So you stayed.

And when the silence

got too loud,

there were always people at the table.

Not for celebration,

but to make it easier.

You didn’t just pay the bills.

You kept the peace.

We wanted to travel.

Just you and me.

It never happened.

Now I see

what it cost you.

I understand you

more than I did back then.

Sometimes I find you in me.

Your strength.

Your tiredness.

And still…

I’m proud

to be your daughter.

You are my icon.