Daffodil Daughters

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

 

 

 

 

 

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