A daughters storm.
A daughters love.
Create the thrashing
and undertones
of work
that is passionate
true
and real.
I want the world
for her.
She fights
and claws
with her intellect
in tact
but her
heart torn
and bleeding.
I want her
world to find
light
joy
free from
struggle.
But she tears
and cries
and throws
it all away.
Pushes me into
painful
thoughts
of loss.
Brilliant
driven
intellect
turns
into harshness
and writhing
when talking to me.
I provide
and offer
ladders.
She swears
at the
rungs
in front of her
but silently
hears me.
I want the
best for her.
Growth
education
professional
strength
to get there.
But she thrashes
and throws it away
again and again.
Seeing light
perhaps?
Reaching out
perhaps?
But hurting me
as hard as she can.
Piercing
my soul with horrid
words
and actions
that are not kind
or real.
One step.
One heart.
Stop and just love her.
So tough.
So hurtful.
Wishing peace for her.
