Does anyone understand
daughters of the daffodils?
what they want?
how they think?
The Mother Daffodil thinks only of herself.
Her glory is her sunburst crown of gold
swaying in the breezes
rising through valleys and hills.
Cut her leaves before they yellow?
She’ll not wear her crown next time round,
I swear to God she’ll not wear her crown
to punish you, she’ll not wear her crown next time round.
Like a showgirl- with a smile and a wink,
If she thinks she’ll be out shown
she’ll exude her poisons in the waters
to kill off the other pretties
Her daughters live in her shadow
wondering if they’re flower enough
for their bright, mesmerizing mother,
the one everyone stops to adore.
The daffodil daughter admires her mother, too
as she displays her extravagant beauty and strength
The young offspring roots push through the soil
She discovers her mother is not like the other mother daffodils.
Other mothers hover over their daughters when it rains and storms
They protect, nurture and whisper sweet things.
Not so, the Daffodil Mother
She scoffs at humiliation, scorns at honor, and monologues at sadness.
The daughter’s cup runs over with loneliness.
It shrivels over time
and grows smaller actually,
almost snuffed out, not getting enough sun.
But one day, the daughter sees that she will die.
Is it death she desires? Or for the suffering to cease?
She chooses and lifts her crown towards the light
and lets the warm Love pour down on her.
She lives, no longer in the Shadow
Her own voice she hears, her beauty she sees
She forgives her daffodil mother
Because she doesn’t want to be one, too.
*I wrote this poem for all the daughters raised by a narcissistic mother