She walks with fire in her voice, A girl of thunder, not by choice. Her heart a storm she can't outpace, Still softened by her mother’s face. They clash like waves against a wall, Each rise of love, a louder fall. Words fly sharp, like shards of glass, Each trying to make the silence pass. But in the night, she pulls the quilt Her mother stitched with care and guilt. A thread of love in every seam, A memory sewn into a dream. She hates the way they scream and break, Yet aches for every give and take. Because beneath the shouts and sighs, Are matching hurts and mirrored eyes. She doesn't know just how to say, "I love you more than words betray." So fights become their way to feel— A messy love, imperfect, real. One day she'll learn the quiet art Of healing hearts that tear apart. But until then, she’ll yell and cry, And love her mom without knowing why.