(i'll name you) the flame that cries

There are two doors between my mother and I.
Enclosing pressure and untargeted anger behind them A void in between them. Filled with vacuum so that if a door is opened, a spark conveniently there, horrendous backlash and a burst of heat will occur. So the doors will stay closed.

There are two doors between my mother and I. And I wish I mean it figuratively.
There are halls of doors between us these days, and not much ability to knock them down. I wish I were a big bad wolf, I'd huff and puff to blow them down, but I'm not.
I'm not.

And there is no energy in the world capable of giving me that strength. Because some of these doors are held shut by me, and I cannot let go.

Maybe opportunity will knock soon.