My parents gave their youth to build me,

Their love folded like blankets over restless nights.

Now, their hands tremble, tender and child-like,

While I stretch between care and duty — Daughter and mother.

 

Now my adolescents sharpen, testing my edges,

While aging parents soften into fragile tides.

I stand in the storm, a bridge between generations, 

Pulled by two currents that refuse to slow.

Heartaches pile like unanswered letters, 

My dreams gathering dust on a forgotten shelf.

Desires buried beneath daily demands,

Discipline stings like betrayal in young eyes—

And I wonder, was I the same to mine?

 I am the mother, now,

Heart heavy with the ache.

Watching my child drift farther still,

A bridge of love, burned in silence.

I bear the weight alone,

Years of tears unwound—

Echoes.

I ask my parents, but silence cradles the question,

Their smiles speak in quiet, unspoken truths.

Am I enough, in all these roles I carry?

For now, I walk the tightrope, 

hoping it leads me home.