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My Mother’s Daughter

I’m curling a backward C into your side, the way
       I used to, Saturday mornings before you remarried
               and I learned to share. Chewie chuffs, so I bury
               my face in her fur, and you don’t see me flinch
      when you say, You’re built like a 12-year-old boy;
soon the only people chasing you will be women.


Swaddled in heavy blue velveteen, skin still moist
       and smelling of Midnight Pomegranate, I beautify
              my reflection, until you come down to make your
              voice heard. I wouldn’t even feel comfortable
       introducing you to my friends.
The only sound
left: the sizzle of ceramic burning my hair perfect.
"This poem is called My Mother's Daughter and I hope my mother never reads it."

spring 07
:iconchibiyin:
chibiyin Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2008   Writer
:hug:


You're beautiful.
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:icontragiccomedy:
tragiccomedy Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2008
:) thanks, honey.

she got on my case again over break, too. but c'est la vie.
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:iconchibiyin:
chibiyin Featured By Owner Jan 8, 2008   Writer
:(

One day she'll hopefully realise her view of what you should be isn't what's best for you. And if not, know your friends are here for you and we think you're amazing.

Especially with writing, dammit.
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January 8, 2008
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