Years before.

I sometimes contemplate,
What the girl would think of me.
Would she be compassionate?
Would she see things how I see,
Them and what’s before me,
What I’ve done and choices made.
Would she understand the hard decisions,
And how hearts and nerves get frayed.
She wouldn’t understand motherhood,
Not the way it burns your core.
I know because I was her,
So many years before