generational trauma

“When do you want kids?”—never if, like it’s a road I’m bound to drift.

A path assumed, a fate assigned, as if my choice was left behind.

But what if I carve them from my own cracks and pass down the weight that holds me back?

I’ve learned to hide the scars I bear, but what if they see, what if they care?

What if I teach them to fear the world, to curl up small, a frightened girl?

And what if I raise him with all my might, but still he craves darkness over light?

What if he grows to be cold and mean, with empty hands, no heart in between?

What if after all I try to do,

they end up lost, just like I grew?

What if no matter how I plea,

they’re fucked up just like me?

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March 2025