Finding My voice: The Narcissist's Child

My father stood over me
As I sat on my mattress
On the floor
My newborn in my arms.

Terrifying me into submission
With his iron gaze
Words like fire
My childhood written all over
His fists.

My tiny heart, given
As my offering
And laid at his feet.

My child gift-wrapped
In a translucent box,
Soft and floppy
With blue hands and blue feet
And a tiny hole in her heart.

The devastation surrounding her arrival
A temporary reprieve
From violence.
She will be a woman one day and I’ll
Be damned if she will be afraid
Of any man.
Standing up,
I pushed my fear aside and
Found my voice.

Finding My voice: The Narcissist's Child

simm

Melbourne, Australia

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