i am my mothers child.
my mothers hands that held me, that i never wanted,
are my own.

"we have been cursed with beauty," she said.
i always remembered that.
and how fragile,
how bony her hands were.

her resolve to use them,
how it amazed me.
working in the garden tirelessly,
i knew how they ached.

our eyes are the same,
jade.
the big slanted kind,
like a cat, someone told me once.

my lips are bigger than hers,
my ******* too. I remember her being so bothered,
"that's not supposed to happen,
you must have got your ***** from your dad!"

my dad.
i was always a daddy's girl,
a tomboy,
especially when i was young.

i retained some traits from my father.
he is a good man.
but the things i learned best from him,
i wish i had not.

i learned to lie,
how to spend money where it was not needed,
and perhaps, how to be lonely.
i am my mother's child.