Wretched roots produce hostile fruits.
She's a wilted flower,
With no love to maintain
Her origin and offspring are sources of pain.
She hates me and I felt the same.
Generational bondage
So hard to break free.
I hated her because she didn’t love me.
Didn't nurture me.
Didn't strengthen me.
I was a budding pierced by thorns of misery.
Anger and agony pumps through her heart
So anger and agony is what she imparts.
But I know that in order for me to bloom
I have to reject inherited gloom
She's a wilted flower but the cycle stops here.
She is my mother and I love her dear
I rebuke the sadness, self-hatred and shame.
I forgive her.
I pray that one day she'll feel the same.
