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I was a gifted child. Until I wasn't. I was the golden girl. Until I couldn't burn anymore.
My parents expected me to build wings of gold and fly further than anyone could ever try. I don't blame them, having a child to raise is like sculpting a clay ***, you can shape it the way you like, paint it the color you fancy. To raise a child is to play God. To raise a child is to be God.
But to be a child is to fall, to make mistakes, to fail. The thing about being too bright at an early age means you burn out by the time you're 16 and suddenly the world around you becomes more gray and terribly, terribly lonely. The fire is never warm enough, nothing is ever enough. And one day you find yourself begging to a godless sky, begging for a new spark.
"do not borrow grief from the future"
But what if I can already see the headlights? I can hear the humming, I cannot ignore it. You will be gone. I will lose you. That is a certainty that has awaited me. I am nowhere near by.
They say you're smart. Your first grade teacher calls you a genius. You feel thrilled because finally, finally, someone who doesn't immediately wait for the next achievement, someone who doesn't threaten disownment over failure. You meet her again 10 years later. You're still her genius.
It is no longer a compliment, it falls like a curse. You spend your childhood decorated in choking ribbons and leaded trophies, but you don't feel pretty, you just feel used. You remember every moment. You remember longing for friends but finding none. You remember a desperation to please when you finally do. You find yourself asking "What if I'm not enough?”. You never are. Then you're up till sunrise because the world is crumbling and you are not enough and never will be and you have no-one. Sometimes you pick up a pen and write, but never in the first tense, never, too personal, You wanted to burn like Icarus. but You faded like Cassandra.
Daniii 13h
Mi madre siempre me decía
que la vida no es fácil,
que nada llega solo,
que todo cuesta.

Me enseñó que escuchar consejos
es como guardar llaves
que un día abrirán las puertas del camino.

Me dijo:
“Aprende a ayudar a tu madre,
aprende a cocinar,
porque el fuego del hogar
te mantendrá vivo cuando todo falte.
Aprende a limpiar,
porque una casa limpia
es un alma en paz.”

Y tenía razón…
Hoy entiendo que no basta soñar sentado,
que las cosas buenas requieren manos,
requieren tiempo,
requieren amor.

Mi madre sabía de batallas,
de madrugadas vacías,
de trabajos que duelen en el cuerpo,
pero alimentan la mesa.

Ella trae el pan,
ella sostiene el mundo,
ella me enseñó a no rendirme
y a dar gracias por lo que tengo.

Hoy sé que su voz
es mi brújula eterna,
y que, aunque pasen los años,
cada palabra suya
es una verdad que florece.

Las madres siempre tienen razón.
Aprendan a ser como ellas,
porque ellas son quienes nos dieron la vida,
y nos enseñan todo lo que saben,
para que el día que ya no estén en este mundo,
uno pueda defenderse,
y vivir con lo que dejaron sembrado.
Sea uno hombre, mujer o cualquier ser:
una madre enseña a vivir.


Derechos de autor ©️

~Daniii
See me in the shadows
My beauty is hidden
I know you can see it
Because you know me
You know my heart
Knowing what I need
Off your nectar
I feed
butterfly
kevin 13h
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Life in ten words:
'  Don't venture too far that you forget how to return'
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