Usually,
I can bow my head
And take the blows.
the
Blinding words
the
Deafening looks
of
Disapproval.
Of well meaning
family,
friends,
strangers,
Myself.
Saying many different things
But translating into only one
Thunderous crescendo -
"You're doing it all wrong!"

...and they're probably right.

but then,
from nowhere,
comes that
soft,
gentle,
insistent
whisper
about him.
sweet
joyful
carefree
exuberant
little him
with a spirit
as bright as
his smile

....Something whispers to me
Something tells me
that if I
just let him be
if I
just let him become
if I
just let him grow
untethered

free

from the weight
of my
constant
'advisement'
then he'll grow up
to become

What he already is.