Stay warm and safe, the frost bites deep,
Clinically clean, your wounds won't weep.
Bare white thoughts, they echo purity,
But you're one of his, dying gently.

Generations bleed for a precious cause,
Love’s a little touch in a world with flaws.
Dreams drift like ash in the breath of life,
I've seen too much, yet remain the child.

Troubled lifetimes, reincarnations twist,
Honest goodbyes slip through the mist.
Chasing the truth with a golden dragon,
Nothing’s impossible—dive in, abandon.

From darkness I scream, reaching for the rock,
He stands firm as my reality shocks.
Unexpected surprise, you bear my pain,
I am nothing without you, insane refrain.

Bulletproof faith, I let it all out,
Dictator bloodline, my grandad's route.
Strong characters play chicken on the road,
Russian roulette, where raw honesty explodes.

Stay warm and safe, for the frost bites deep,
Bare your wounds, but no need to weep.
In chaos, in love, in blood-soaked rhyme,
We rise and fall, defying time.

Just because
We are bound by blood,
Does not mean
We breed the same love.

We do not share
The same view,
Or see eye-to-eye.
You ponder in confusion,
Always wondering why.

Allow me to explain
These words of pain.

We do not
Share a connection,
We are not bound by the heart.

We are torn and broken,
Millions of miles apart.

We are fluent in fighting,
Storms and lightning,
Arising,
As we crash and burn.

And we turn.

Face the opposite direction,
Lost connection,
As we accept the truth.

Mother,
Bloodline is bound,
But I
Am far from you.

They say, the dying are greeted, by their mothers
She comes for them at the end
Her love reaching further than bookends
Loving before, when you’re but an idea
A single cluster of cells,
Pregnantly waiting,
For birth

You came into the world quickly,
Precariously, the way you moved in life
Your pace blazing—light speed  
A glow that burned from the beginning

You were likely, the first person I ever held,
Me being too little to hold onto anything much bigger
But of course I adored you right away,
Right from when I first held you,
You made more than a daughter

You left the world quickly too,
during the month the sun burns the hottest,
August sweeping you into the air.
So I wonder, who came for you?

What I like to imagine,
and most desperately hope,
Is that you were greeted by a softness
A loving net cast by our grandmothers
Rocking you slowly
Pulling you back into our linage

Ties that bind are not easily broken.
What did you inherit in your bloodline?
For the fruit is a product of the vine.
We are the consequences of words spoken.
Our Ancestors sin is not forgotten,
planting seeds that grew into bitter wine.
They may have passed but we still pay the fines.
Their silence left us nothing but tokens.

The curses may last four generations,
but the blessings endure for a thousand.
We want to leave a good inheritance.
Elders to fight we need your confessions.
To dig and allow the cycle to end,
in order to give the next ones a chance.

Sometimes I remember the scorn of my family,
Effigies of bloodlines crossed into a tired face.
I remember my mother,
Her vice was appearance-
Not her own but that of others.
Every day was judgment
She’d pick us before we bloomed and left wilted children
Questioned the lack of fruit
Not with self-deprecation but with scorn
How dare we cross the farmer who sowed the seeds and watered the crops?
How dare we look towards the sky for comfort?
When that cold trowel could dig in our necks.

I remember one time my mother asked me if she was the problem
A lie, I’ve heard that question many times
How can you curse a broken human more than she does herself
And somewhere in my head, I justify it
Consider the kindness built on vanity to be kindness nonetheless
Flowers do not need to be alive to be beautiful
They can be so frailed and dried up they become immortal
A crumbling tombstone of decay
And we marvel at them
And I remember that I am a product of my mother