Almost everything I hate about myself
I see in you and so you take the silent
blame for all my shortcomings when in reality
I must choose not to be this person.

And so I have, but I still hope you know
that I smile to think that you are the woman
who gave birth to me because I fear that no one
else could handle me.

P.S. you're forty-five, not dead,
get out there, find a man, start living again
because I fear more than anything that my life
as well as that of my sister has forever
halted
yours.