a watchful mother's eye is a paperweight to her daughter's life
it's heavy, unmoving, weighing her down when she tries to flee
if the daughter is thin like paper, unwilling to argue, it's a comfort
a constant to keep her safe, to keep her sturdy, to keep her in place
if the daughter is big and like a book, sturdy in her ways, it's an annoyance
something to disregard with minimal effort, more as a reminder to her 'love'
but what if the daughter is in between, unable to find a balance
what if she rips easily like paper, but is bulky, not unlike a book
then she is left with a struggle, held down by her mother's weight
but not trapped, able to, eventually, escape from that constant
she is left with tears and cuts, with odd bits worn down with time
she is left with an indent from that paperweights neverending presence
a misshapen part of her, an eternal reminder of her mother

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