In shadows deep, the oldest daughter stands,
A mother to siblings, a healer of her mother's hands.
In her eyes, a sorrow, in her heart, a weight,
Misunderstood, her pain, a silent debate.
Forced to grow, to bear a load not hers to own,
To soothe her mother's wounds, to soften every groan.
She feels the weight of empathy, of womanhood's plight,
But as a daughter, anger simmers, burning bright.
Silent she remained, for too long, too still,
But now her truth unfolds, raw and real.
Yet her honesty is deemed as rudeness, ungratefulness portrayed,
A victim labeled a villain, in the game she never played.
In her voice, a plea for understanding, for grace,
To see beyond the surface, to feel her hidden place.
For she carries scars unseen, wounds deep and wide,
The oldest daughter's pain, a silent tide.
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