I Don't Know You Anymore

I held you, crying, still wet from your birth.
That single moment stopped even the earth.
I was afraid, breathless with awe --
the baby girl I don't know anymore.

I see the tempest churning in your eyes:
driven confusion fueled by lies.
I feel the burning of your anger and rage,
the grinding burden too much for your age.

How could you know the guilt that I feel,
the gnawing loss that I wish I could heal?
Yet you believe that's the way it should be.
You see justice in my agony.

You stare in silence, a tower of rage
just like your mother's silent punishment cage.
My flesh and blood, my essence you shun.
You've locked your mind, the damage is done.