My mother is a beast, fierce and untamed,
In a world of shadows, her fire remained.
When my father walked out, left us with air,
No money, no power, no love to spare,
She stood at the wreckage, her fists clenched tight,
Her eyes blazing wild, ready to fight.

She fought him first, the man who fled,
With vows broken, and words unsaid.
She stood before his family’s scorn,
Their sneers sharp as knives, their faces worn.
"Call me what you will, cast me aside,
But my son is my blood, my soul, my pride."

No riches to offer, no treasures to claim,
Just courage and love that burned like a flame.
With every battle, her spirit grew,
She carved out a life, from nothing, anew.

She worked through storms, through sweat and ache,
Each step a promise, each breath for my sake.
Books on the table, shoes on the floor,
A life she built, though the odds screamed “no more.”

She rose like a phoenix, defiant and bold.
She roared through the silence, the whispers, the blame,
Her child her kingdom, her love her claim.

And when nights grew long, and tears ran deep,
She held me close, sang me to sleep.
Her lullabies carried the weight of her fight,
A melody forged in the darkest of nights.

My father abandoned, but she never wavered,
Her battle scars tell of all she has savored.
A fierce protector, a lioness untamed,
In her embrace, the world was reclaimed.

She’s a beast, yes, but never cruel,
Her strength a shield, her love the rule.
For in her battles, she claimed the throne,
A mother’s triumph, her son fully grown.

So here I stand, a testament true,
To a mother who did what no man would do.
Her courage, her fire, her unyielding will,
My mother, the beast, is my hero still.