I made a promise to myself

Knowing that, should I break

It, the garden in my thoughts

Would wilt and decay,

Leaving not one seed behind:

See, no matter what you

Do, or how hard you try, with that

Scheming mind and the mouth that

Longs to joy with my perception,

I will not

Brush a hand upon the cheek

That begs for the tears to

Comfort her like a secret lover;

Not will I

Permit the eager tears their

Departure, not even as they burn

At the eyes and distort the visage;

For I will not

Allow the subtle weaknesses

Trapped inside this striving

Soul a way out;

Nor will I

Leave room for anyone to perceive

Me as the helpless victim.

And even as these thoughts

Begin to form, I can see it’s too late;

Your poison has already slipped

In like a sleeping serpent and had

Tainted what was once my own.

And now I am no longer

My mother’s daughter.

I am

my mother,

And the promise no longer stands.