The garden was stolen before it could bloom,
A child left to navigate shadows and room.
Where hands should have held you, they let you go cold,
Trading your innocence for stories untold.
They saw your soft heart and they called it a flaw,
Using your love as a bridge for their war.
But you took those stones and you built up a wall,
Refusing to falter, refusing to fall.
You forged a success out of ashes and grit,
A fire so bright that the whole world was lit.
I watched you, the titan, the woman of steel,
Hiding the wounds that you never could heal.
Now the ghosts of the past have come back for their due,
And the mind is a storm that is clouding the view.
The strength that once saved you is tired and worn,
And the daughter you raised sees the spirit that’s torn.
It’s a rocky terrain where we walk, hand in hand,
Across the shifting and turbulent sand.
But let this be known, in the thick of the grey:
Your value has never once withered away.
The "victim" died long ago, buried in strife;
The "victor" is who gave me essence and life.
You are the strongest, the bravest, the best,
Even when weary and seeking for rest.
So I’m bringing the blossoms, the silk, and the gold,
For the stories of courage that remain to be told.
No illness can swallow the light that you gave;
I love you through every break of the wave.
Here are your flowers, Momma—held in my hand,
For the strongest woman in all of the land.
Apr 11
Apr 11, 2026 at 12:53 PM UTC
The garden was stolen before it could bloom,
A child left to navigate shadows and room.
Where hands should have held you, they let you go cold,
Trading your innocence for stories untold.
They saw your soft heart and they called it a flaw,
Using your love as a bridge for their war.
But you took those stones and you built up a wall,
Refusing to falter, refusing to fall.
You forged a success out of ashes and grit,
A fire so bright that the whole world was lit.
I watched you, the titan, the woman of steel,
Hiding the wounds that you never could heal.
Now the ghosts of the past have come back for their due,
And the mind is a storm that is clouding the view.
The strength that once saved you is tired and worn,
And the daughter you raised sees the spirit that’s torn.
It’s a rocky terrain where we walk, hand in hand,
Across the shifting and turbulent sand.
But let this be known, in the thick of the grey:
Your value has never once withered away.
The "victim" died long ago, buried in strife;
The "victor" is who gave me essence and life.
You are the strongest, the bravest, the best,
Even when weary and seeking for rest.
So I’m bringing the blossoms, the silk, and the gold,
For the stories of courage that remain to be told.
No illness can swallow the light that you gave;
I love you through every break of the wave.
Here are your flowers, Momma—held in my hand,
For the strongest woman in all of the land.
