becky-morrison

You are your mother’s daughter,
They say to me repeatedly.

You have her charm and her wits.
You have her face and her grace.
You have her calm demeanor,
And her kind exterior.

But inside me is the monster
That comes from only him,
The fire of impatience
That burns inside my limbs.

I am a ticking time bomb,
Just waiting to explode.
I am so much of him
That I cannot control. 

So when they tell me I am lucky
For being like my mother,
I laugh at the falsehood
That they cannot uncover.

I am not my mother’s daughter,
I am my daddy’s little girl.