Prisoner to Your Mother

Prisoner to Your Mother

I move like a shadow in her house,

where silence is louder than words,

each glance a bar, each sigh a lock,

and love feels like a borrowed sword.

Her smile blooms soft when you are near,

a practiced grace, a sweet disguise,

but when you turn—the warmth dissolves,

her gaze turns cold as subzero ice.

I speak in whispers, measured, small,

a careful guest within her walls,

where every kindness feels rehearsed,

and freedom crumbles as it falls.

You are my sun, my sweetest sin,

yet chained, I stand, a quiet dove,

a prisoner not to love itself

but to the mother of my love.

When you are there, she is so nice;

when you turn to go, she is subzero ice.

Let’s buy a house, put her in a home.

I want you to myself, just us two in our home.