Snake Mama gave me the gift of a thousand knives.
"They are beautiful!" she preened, alight.
Over rusty, infecting edges, she crooned,
"They are perfect, pretty, and mine."
Striped with red, I dared to scream.
"So over-sensitive! What are you thinking of?"
Each invasion deeper, further obscene.
"Come, child, be constricted in my love."
Snake Mama can't be wrong,
And brooks no blame, she's smooth--
No harbor, no boundary, no private place
From the trenches undersea to the mountains of the moon.
Cut off one head, seven more will grow,
Each one of them speaking the same;
Snake Mama poisons her babies' bones,
Hard done by to find they're insane.
Find information for daughters of narcissistic mothers HERE.