The mother
The first eyes you recognise
Her womb carries you into surprise
The mother
Her heart-spiteful-but in disguise
Her father
Gives you the trauma of beaten lies
The father
He talks to you and makes you frown
He has the eyes of golden brown
The father
He knows what’s like to be sunken down
His father
Gives you the trauma of beaten lies
The parents
As iced-but kind when they want to be
They think they’re help but never really
Their trauma and lies now a passing crown
Pay your respect but never bow
Yourself
A child who never implored to be born
Yourself
But here you are-aim to be warm
Yourself
A soul that’s building its own route
Yourself
Hoping there’s no gum on your boot
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Author:
marissa (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 8th, 2026 14:29
- Comment from author about the poem: I believe that unhealed trauma can pass on from generation to generation within a continuous huge loop. Fix it before you decide to have children or you condemn them to a lifetime of having to try fixing it.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
So sad when this happens and inadequate and inappropriate parenting skills are passed on
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