Poems

Words I’d like to call art.

Daughter

i share birthdays with my mom

i am so much of my mother’s daughter

im as unlovable as her

i share houses with my dad

he’s the worst person alive, and i’m his only daughter

i am so much like my grandfather

so much so we refuse to admit it the resemblance

i was everything to my grandmother

then i let her down like an anchor

all the while pushing myself further

erasing is so much more cruel than murder

i am those who they adore

as i left them to wonder upon the beauty i’ve been granted with

my mother is a runner

my father is a sinner

and i am their only daughter

I don’t like calling my art poems though much might say so, I never think that my silly little writings are ever good enough to be called “art” I always thought that, that would make actual poets felt invalidated. But if art is whatever the artist thinks is, then I’d like to think that this is art.

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