I am my parents

Which is to say I am all the broken people who came before them

My father and I act so alike sometimes you cannot tell the difference

Both too arrogant to admit so we keep it to one is copying the other

I inherited my mother’s face and the simple forgetful that follows her

Thus writing everything down, making arbitrary sound beautiful

The volume control in my lungs came broken just like my father’s and both of us refuse to fix them

Art came from my mother’s inheritance

She photographs

I do anything to stop my hands shaking even fore a little while

Capturing moments I am sure I will forget in the palms of my hand

Transferring them to any medium that will listen

I was given addiction I thought I was too smart to recieve

Neither parent is to blame but one knows firsthand better than the other

My father, his father, his siblings, my cousins all taste something sweet in the  bitter destruction of livers, lungs, and hearts

The distance I put between my mother and I for everything I saw, everything I felt

In hopes it would hurt her a little less

Will sting me after she’s left us

As I look in the mirror to see her reflection staring back at me

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