I’m holding in a scream that no one hears,
Heavy with echoes from my younger years,
A childhood stolen, not misplaced,
I hung my head, took up no space.
Hands that should have held with care,
Taught me to vanish, not to dare.
As a mother, I had a purpose too,
But it’s to help them not need you.
What once defined me fades to grey.
My purpose shifts, then slips away.
At work, I shaped a thriving team,
Built up others self-esteem.
But now they soar, and I recede,
A rootless tree, without a need.
The pride is real, the pain is too,
Who am I, if not what I do?
The friends who once might understand,
Now drift like waves away from sand.
‘Come celebrate another year?’
There’s no response,
Like I’m not here.
I’m hoping somewhere in this ache,
A kinder self might start to wake.
Not mother, worker, friend, wife, child,
But something deeper, fierce and wild.
A soul not shaped by others' view,
But rising, honest, raw and true.
