Eldest daughter, burdened throne,
Born to stand, but not on your own.
Only daughter, scapegoat child,
Labeled broken, called defiled.
Your laughter dimmed, your voice erased,
Her love a mask, her warmth misplaced.
Her rage a storm you learned to weather,
Your worth tied up in her twisted tether.
You carried her grief, her silent ache,
The shards of dreams she couldn’t make.
Her shadow loomed, her hand would sting—
The woman who clipped her child’s wing.
Each tear you shed became her fuel,
Each wound a lesson of her cruel rule.
You danced her dance, a puppet’s art,
While losing pieces of your heart.
A puppet to her tangled strings,
No space to learn what freedom brings.
Your joys dismissed, your tears denied,
Her throne upheld despite all you’ve cried.
The first to hold her shattered dreams,
To soothe the echoes of her screams.
A scapegoat stitched from guilt and blame,
Wearing the weight of her shame.
You learned to shrink, to twist, to bend—
To make her chaos somehow end.
The eldest daughter, the steady hand,
Built on a shifting, sinking sand.
Yet beneath her storm, a spark remained,
A quiet voice that broke the chain.
Through scars and resilience, you rose above it all,
While a constant witness to her tragic fall.
But eldest daughter, you’re more than pain,
More than the weight of her disdain.
The chains she forged have come undone,
Now you can rise with the blazing sun.
You’ve escaped her grasp, with strength anew,
Her shadow no longer darkens you.
Eldest daughter, only daughter, flee—
No longer bound by her decree.
No one's daughter, the only mother, fierce and free,
You’ve claimed the life she wouldn’t for herself let be.
No longer trapped, no longer small—
You hold the light that shattered through it all.
