I Am My Mother's Daughter

But I Will Break the Cycle

By Autumn StewPublished 10 months ago • 1 min read

I watch her grow and hope the past will not repeat.

She carries my fire, bright and impossible to tame.

I promise her a love that will never know retreat.

She storms like I once stormed with restless hands and feet,

and sometimes I hear old shadows whispering my name.

I watch her grow and hope the past will not repeat.

My mother taught me stories of silence and defeat,

a kind of love that punishes the spark it tried to claim.

I promise her a love that will never know retreat.

Her stubborn joy can press the bruise of every old deceit,

and in those moments fear reminds of where I came.

I watch her grow and hope the past will not repeat.

Yet I offer gentle love each time our tempers meet,

choosing patience over patterns that once taught me shame.

I promise her a love that will never know retreat.

She is the breaking of a lineage where tenderness was rare and incomplete,

and every day I choose a different ending for our name.

I watch her grow and hope the past will not repeat.

I promise her a love that will never know retreat.

Words for the ones who survived the fire and stayed to name the ashes.

Where grief becomes ritual and language becomes light.

Survival is just the beginning.

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