Beneath the gaze of a moonless sky,
I am the first breath that cracked the dawn,
A daughter born with trembling cries,
But to her mother, a burden drawn.
She looks at me with shadows in her eyes,
A storm of silence, a flood of disdain.
In her heart, no place for lullabies,
Just echoes of her stinging refrain.
“Unworthy, unwelcome,” her whispers bleed,
Her love, a phantom I’ll never find.
The air grows thick with unmet need,
A mother’s warmth left far behind.
The house is cold, but my father stays,
A sentinel through my endless night.
His words, a balm to my aching haze,
His arms, a fortress of fragile light.
“Child, you are the stars, the fireflies,
The song that broke my silences.
In you, the universe dreams and lies,
And you are more than her brokenness.”
But still, the world twists the knife,
I see it in their knowing stares.
The first daughter’s cursed life—
To bloom alone, tangled in despair.
Yet somewhere deep, a voice persists,
A defiance beneath my battered skin:
“Love will grow where hatred insists,
And the first daughter will rise again.”
One day, I’ll carry no chains of her ire,
No ashes from her venomous pyre.
I’ll weave from wounds a tapestry bright,
And in the mirror, find my own light.