My mother Gave me a gift Of rage. Wrapped in a beautiful bow and Cloaked in a darkness So deep that the midnight sky, Would seem like day. Passed from female to female Along my matriarchal line. Not being able to show love Not speaking of love Not loving anyone But the narcissist Within. My mother gave me rage As a gift. Unwanted. Unneeded. United in her Mother before her. A gift I would tear apart, Crack open and grasp from within A seedling of hope. A gift to burn and bury, Water and tend to. So that my child could know Only love.