people often say that i resemble my father
and sure i might have his nose and his crooked smile

but she is who i see in the mirror
when my hands fall against my waist and push inwards
i see her
in my hands
when i am cleaning up the messes that the men i love created
i see her in my lips when he is too drunk or ****** to comprehend a word i just said
i see her in my bones when they crack under the weight of a man
i see her i see her i see her

i
am
her.

maybe its because my father was never home enough for me to take after him that i began to mimic her actions instead
i spent far too many hours watching her back down from a fight than to ever turn into the instigator
but ******* sometimes i wish i took after my father instead
i wish i knew how to be the rock thrown at the window pane instead of the ******* window pane.
but im not.

i didnt grow up watching him in the reflection
in the mirror

and when i look in the mirror
i finally understand why no one has ever loved me in the ways that ive loved them.

i am just like her.

who would ever buy a shirt with stains or a mirror that is fragmented.
who would ever eat a meal half-cooked
or live in a house that has collapsed
and these all seem like such meaningless questions but what i'm trying to say is who could ever love a soul that is bruised.

so i understand.
i understand that everyone needs a valve. everyone needs a pump of oxygen into their lungs, a pump of air from mouth to mouth. everyone needs a life source.
you wanted me because i fit the job requirements but i guess you are starting to realize that you can't steal a heart beat from someone who is far past dead.

you cant steal a heartbeat from someone who stole their own from their mother