The Weight She Bears

You built a throne on hollow ground,

Claiming what was never found.

Not earned, not yours—just hands outstretched,

Grasping for what others etched.

You taught your son to be your knight,

To shield your flaws, to fight your fight.

But now he’s gone, his back is turned,

A bridge destroyed, a lesson learned.

And now you wait, with desperate eyes,

For daughters bound by worn-out ties.

You preach to them of working hard,

Yet sit and play the waiting card.

Entitlement, your heavy crown,

Pulling every witness down.

You call for what you didn’t make,

Demand the fruits you didn’t stake.

Were you there? Perhaps you stood,

But did no more than think you should.

The others gave, they built, they stayed,

Their love was shown, their debts repaid.

Now here you sit, with empty hands,

Expecting more than time demands.

And still, there’s pity in my heart—

To see you tear yourself apart.

You taught us how to stand and fight,

But not the way to make things right.

You speak of strength yet lean on hope,

A cycle spun, too tight to cope.

And though my anger sears my veins,

I mourn the cost, the years of pain.

The worry lingers, sharp and cold—

What happens when the ties unfold?

If only you could see the truth,

That nothing’s owed without the proof.

It’s not too late, the time’s not gone,

But change must come before the dawn.

So let the weight you bear be known,

And take the steps to stand alone.

For pity fades, and anger burns,

But only action brings returns.