The heiresses
The richest women in the world
Are heiresses
Not scientists, not writers
Printing bestsellers on their terraces
But heiresses
To giants, thrones, and names
And you are an heiress
Of fear and pain.
Let me explain.
Inherited fears, inherited pain
And worries of generations before,
Ancestors who suffered genocide and famine
And wars we thought we’d closed the door on.
The fear of poverty and persecution
Has left a mark on how you stand
Free will is just another illusion
Anxiety constantly lives in your head.
The pain of your own powerlessness
Fueled by news, turned into stress
Yet you are an heiress nevertheless
Of victims, abusers, and witnesses.
This is your throne
Of a thousand words
That your mom told you
And that she was told.
Words felt like swords
So sharp and cutting
And heavy like stone
With doubtful meanings
But a definite tone.
Over the years you discover with horror
That you've inherited that tone of voice.
Did you ever have a choice?
Look at a beehive where all are born alike
Yet there are workers and queens
They don’t choose, their path is decided
By those who feed the larvae
Either with pollen, or royal jelly.
The bees cannot define their role
Only receive a script to follow.
A bee becomes a queen
Because she was treated
As a queen.
Toughen your mind, soften your stance
To become whoever you want.
At least you were given a chance,
A hint of choice, and today that’s a lot.
Sounds like fortune,
Feels like a plot.
Ascend your throne
It is only yours
‘Cause you are an heiress
Of doubts and errors.
You got stuck, but
You can rule the chaos.
Look in the mirror – who do you see?
I know exactly
Because you – you are me,
An heiress, trapped
In inherited time.
Inheritance can be a quite tricky thing.
And what will we pass on to our offspring?
'2025-2026
© Poeteia
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