My mother
gave her heart away once,
when it was strong,
unbroken.
I was too young,
too naive,
too hopeless to recognize
the sheltered violence—
manipulation,
deceit,
pills prescribed
as permission to escape,
her innocence put on trial
for breathing,
for speaking.
She served twenty years
of narcissism before she fled,
returning
like a prisoner of war—
wounded,
pieces missing,
everything she owned gone.
She was never the same.
Never let another man close.
Still chooses solitude.
Truly,
a warrior of her own kind.
Dec 28, 2025
Dec 28, 2025 at 10:06 PM UTC
My mother
gave her heart away once,
when it was strong,
unbroken.
I was too young,
too naive,
too hopeless to recognize
the sheltered violence—
manipulation,
deceit,
pills prescribed
as permission to escape,
her innocence put on trial
for breathing,
for speaking.
She served twenty years
of narcissism before she fled,
returning
like a prisoner of war—
wounded,
pieces missing,
everything she owned gone.
She was never the same.
Never let another man close.
Still chooses solitude.
Truly,
a warrior of her own kind.
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