she squawked like a cock at the crack of her spawn.
her eyes flared like demons, devouring the “wronged.”

she called her husband, daddy, in a simpering infantile tone,
(and I am revolted as I write this invective poem)

she flounced and pounced and bounced – a teeny bopper on stage.
then raged like a hail nail storm, a child, deranged.

she suffered her own hell, this i know is true,
but leaking her bile – a layered cake rue.

there were knives all around, no rocks and a hard place.
only did she shut when i dried knives with quiet grace.

like the coward she was, she hid behind “daddy.”
berating me through him — to dodge his poison ratty.

she whip whirled her vain, again and again
a blender of bile, a sickly ugly pain.

she sneered me ugly, she laughed me fat.
she contempted me stupid, when she was the twat.

i see it now. in retrospect, rot and sadness.
she was a forgotten soul, embalmed in her madness.

but i was her child. not her pain to be beaten.
f*** her. I live joy now, away. undefeaten.