Musings on Life from a Dead Girl

Faces

We pass faces down in my family
As if they were crystal candy dishes
Or old coins.
It is more than a mere resemblance
I look at myself but I can't tell you the name of the girl staring back at me because I see nothing of my own
My high cheekbones that jut out at awkward angles
Those
Those are my grandmother's
My green eyes
They are my mother's
My lips
My teeth
My smile
My damn nose that's too large for my too-round face
All of it is already used
I carry the marks of their sins on my body like fleshy tattoos
I tell my therapist that they haunt me like ghosts
Their faces
She says that I am my own but she can't understand
How many times had I been called by my mother's name in public
Been mistaken for my sister
Compared to my grandmother
I want to run
To tear the pieces of them off of me
To be free
To be me without expectations of someone else
But as long as I carry their faces I cannot
My family passes down faces like heirlooms
Maybe one day I will look at myself and not see them
Maybe I will finally start to see myself in my own face
Maybe one day I will have a daughter
She will look at herself and see me
MY eyes
MY nose
MY smile
And maybe she will be glad
Be glad to have my face
Maybe
Maybe I can give that to her.