To My Father

I wish I had never met you
because then you'd be a mirage,
an illusion I created, more handsome,
still absent, but valiant.
Brilliant. The mysterious
dark figure who rode off
on a white horse, the epic hero
who gave me
my nose.

But, instead, you raised me
poorly, as if I were an extension of your
self-loathing. And it didn't work
and you left and I would rather
mourn your death than
eat dinner with you
ever again.

It hurts the soul to be conceived
in hate, veins coursing with accidental
heredity, like the daughter of
a serial killer, worried
I am half you and it's my fault
and I am doomed.

To Myself**

You have been handed lies
like family heirlumes
and they are not your
weight to carry, you have to
give them back.

You are not your father, you do
not have his nose, you are not doomed
and history does not repeat itself.
Unlearn your childhood and
clear the slate. You need to be
un-nurtured, my dear.

You are beautiful and brave
and you change your circumstances.
You run like hell away
from anyone who dims
your flame.
You protect yourself.
You change.