She will  knead you and need you
Willing you to agree
You will know you have a universe brewing
But she will convince you that
it is only a lowly branch scratching at the door

You will grow up wanting to throw up bits of colour
Because it makes you something she is afraid of.
You will constantly fight to find yourself within her constraints
Always falling short

Never sure where you lie.

She is
The type of mother that lets you know
Your beauty is fading with your worth.