Canvas: The Daughter

Written on: July 2014

Revised on: January 2024

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In the gentle haven of a canvas pure,

A daughter waits, innocence to assure.

Blank and white, untouched by design,

Her spirit yearns to break free, to shine.

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A mother, the artist, with hands adept,

Weaves a narrative, tightly kept.

Manipulative strokes, a control so sly,

But within the daughter, rebellion does lie.

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"You were the artist, and I was your canvas,

Pure and blank, a space vast and boundless."

Yet, smudges she makes, in hues of defiance,

A rebellion against the restrictive alliance.

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From each smudge blooms a color anew,

A palette unique, vibrant and true.

The daughter, a canvas, resilient and strong,

For in her rebellion, she discovers where she belongs.

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In the dance of colors, a tale unfolds,

Of a daughter's journey, strong and bold.

From the mother's constraints, she seeks release,

Creating a masterpiece, her own path to peace.

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From thought to thought, her future awaits,

A canvas transformed, breaking old fates.

In the smudges and colors, a sentiment pure,

A daughter's freedom, her own allure.