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Not the Story They Tell

She’s a mama of six hearts, but one breaks her the most, Little Kathryn taken far, held tight by those who “know.” They say they’re doing right, but they never asked her why, Never saw the nights she folded up and cried. She’s fighting with pennies in a world built on gold, Paying lawyers instead of life with the kids she wants to hold. No court ever listened, no stranger cared to see, They judged her from a distance and called it family. Kayden keeps his memories folded in a drawer, Kaylee’s grown quiet, but she feels it even more. Kayson paints pictures of the way things used to be, Kayla keeps asking why love is so hard to see. Andrew still reaches for a voice that feels like home, And little Kathryn’s held far away in a house that calls her “their own.” They say Mama’s broken, say Mama’s wrong, Say they’re the ones who belong. But none of those voices ever held her hand, None of those voices ever tried to understand. And these kids miss their mama like sunlight in the rain, ’Cause mother-love isn’t packaged, it’s carried through the pain. It’s not neat, it’s not tidy, it’s not tied with a bow— It’s the kind you feel deep in your bones, the kind only children know. People talk loudly like that makes them right, But love doesn’t live in the noise of the night. It lives in the quiet where she wonders alone, If she’d still have her babies with money, power, or a home. If she’d been louder, tougher, rich with a voice— But they took what was hers, said it wasn’t her choice. And these kids miss their mama like sunlight in the rain, ’Cause mother-love isn’t packaged, it’s carried through the pain. It’s not neat, it’s not tidy, it’s not tied with a bow— It’s the kind you feel deep in your bones, the kind only children know. She lies awake thinking she should’ve done more, Counting the reasons, the should-haves, the doors. But her children remember the truth in her eyes— Not the story that strangers keep selling as lies. These kids miss their mama, and they always will, Because love like hers doesn’t fade—it lingers warm and still. It’s not store-bought comfort; it’s the fight and the fall, A mother loving fiercely with nothing left at all.