The Strings They Pull

 A poem dedicated to kids of narcissistic parents**

 

They call it love, they call it care,  

But in their grip, you gasp for air.  

A silent pact, unspoken, unseen,  

A labyrinth of control wrapped in routine.  

They weave their words, a subtle snare,  

Promising shelter but never what's fair.  

"Do this for us," their whispers decree,  

And freedom is traded for loyalty's plea.  

Their smiles are sweet, their tone benign,  

But hidden beneath, a sharp design.  

They twist your thoughts, make you believe,  

That love is earned, not freely received.  

Every success, they claim as their own,  

Yet your failures, you bear alone.  

Their pride in you feels like a chain,  

Binding you tight to their domain.  

You question yourself, but their gaze is clear:  

"Without us, you'd disappear."  

Yet deep within, a voice takes hold,  

Whispering truths you've never been told.  

Love should uplift, not weigh you down,  

It shouldn’t demand that you must drown.  

For wings are meant to stretch and soar,  

Not clipped to keep you near the floor.  

Break their strings, and rise, take flight,  

For you are more than their shadowed might.  

In your own light, you’ll come to see,  

A love unbound, pure, and free.  

The Mirror Never Lies

Her world is a stage, her face the sun,

Every spotlight hers until the show is done.

She weaves her words in glittering thread,

But the warmth is false, the love misread.

Her laughter is loud, her smile refined,

Yet every gesture is a claim to bind.

"I'm your mother," she says, "I gave you life,

You owe me your soul, your dreams, your strife."

She adorns herself in the cloak of care,

But beneath it lies a heart laid bare—

Not for you, but her endless need,

For praise, for power, for a life to lead.

Your achievements are hers, your pain dismissed,

Her love, a bargain, wrapped in a twist.

She takes your voice, replaces it whole,

Until you're a shadow, a fractured soul.

You tread so lightly, afraid to fall,

Her wrath a tempest, her silence a wall.

No room for you, no space to grow,

In her garden, only her flowers show.

But child of the mirror, don’t despair,

You’re more than her image, more than her glare.

Break the glass, let your spirit ascend,

Her reflection fades; your journey begins.

For the stars are brighter beyond her gaze,

And you are the light she tried to erase.

The Words That Wound

A child sits silent, his heart clenched tight,  

In the echoes of words that steal the light.  

From lips that should cradle, comfort, and care,  

Comes a torrent of pain too heavy to bear.  

"You're worthless, foolish, a burden to all!"  

Her voice like a hammer, her words like a wall.  

No lullabies, no tales of delight,  

Only sharp-edged scorn in the dead of night.  

Her tongue, a blade that cuts to the bone,  

In a house full of people, he feels so alone.  

Each syllable bruises, each sentence stings,  

Shackling his spirit with invisible strings.  

He looks to her face, searching for grace,  

But finds only shadows in its place.  

Her laughter is bitter, her kindness withdrawn,  

And the child wonders what he did wrong.  

His tears are quiet, his cries unheard,  

Drowned by the weight of her biting words.  

The world outside is a distant dream,  

While her anger swells like a raging stream.  

But deep within, a flicker remains,  

A hope that someday he'll break these chains.  

For even in darkness, the smallest flame  

Can whisper of freedom and call his name.  

One day, he'll rise, and her voice will fade,  

Replaced by love that his heart has made.  

Though scars may linger, his soul will soar,  

A child no longer, but something more.