The Journey

If I was writing this the traditional way, my tears would stain the paper. .
If I was writing this the traditional way, my handwriting would be illegible...
My pen shakey.....
My words jumbled..
They wouldn't make any sense
Have no meaning and my sentences would run on...
If... I...
If I was writing the traditional way...
But there's nothing traditional about me or my life..
Im going thru a journey of sorts if you will. ..
..unwillingly..
I'm being led down a rabbit hole of unknowns and I'm doing it: kicking and screaming. .
The journey is not mine...
I'm just a passenger. ..
An unenthusiatic, unprepared, unsolicited passenger. .
This journey, this ride that I'm on.. I would love to get off but I can't.
I would love to make it stop..
But I can't
I wanna yell,  scream,  shout:
Abort mission!
Abandon ship!
Cease fire!
Just. .stop..
But I can't. .
It's not my ride
Not my journey
Not my life
I'm just along for the ride,  for the adventure..
You see,  my daughter is in the process of transitioning into a man...
She's deciding to live her life out loud, but why do I have to go with her?
Why couldn't she live out loud, a little  quieter?
A little less rumble in her jungle?
A little less fire in her cracker?
A little less pop! In her snap. ..?
Just a teeny roar....?
Don't get it twisted...
I'm not here looking for pity or hugs...
Or quiet words of understanding....
Little nods with the hand on my arm, like Oh Girl..
Do not feel sorry for me..
 Or her..
Hell, I'm proud of the kid..
I applaud the kid...
I applaud her courage,  her tenacity,  her audacity...Her bravery...
However things are getting a bit outta hand now...
The physical changes are afoot..
She's getting taller,  her shoulders are broadening,  her waist slimming, feet growing, voice deepening and she's growing facial hair....
But all I see is my girl...
That tiny baby girl I gave birth to... that I taught to ride a bike,  to stand up to bullies, to hold her head up high,  to be independent....to be happy.... My... girl.... my one and only, my everything..
my heartbeat...
So...
If I was writing this the traditional way, my tears would stain the paper. .
My pen shakey..
My handwriting illegible...
My words jumbled...
They wouldn't make any sense,
Have no meaning
And my sentences would run on. .
If... I...
....was writing this the traditional way...
But there's nothing traditional about me or my life....
Or this journey...
Or this ride...
But love.....