I am my father’s daughter.
His blood flows in mine.
I feel the cursed liquid run through my body,
with every beat of my heart.
It’s like gasoline,
slowly poisoning me –
as it did to him.
My clock reminds me,
with every tick –
“Not much time left!”
There is no escape.
The enemy is inside me,
hunting me down –
just another fallen soul in his way.
I watch myself in the mirror,
my father’s face looks back at me.
I hate what I see, just as much
as I hate him.
But he was just a child once too.
Feeling the same poison run,
through his fragile body.
I pity him.
But I do not forgive.
Some feelings on generational trauma.
