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i don't want to be my father's daughter.
no matter how much i deny it, my face matches his and his eyes mirror mine.
we have our differences, i thank myself for choosing to be a different version of myself.
he runs from his past, he runs from my mother, he runs from me.
my past i face, and perhaps tears will fall, regret will sink in deeply, but I stand in front of it with a stiff lip.
all past mistakes I take as my lesson to change. to change into the best version of myself.
men don't want to change, they'll just find a woman to match their lifestyle.
no matter how identical i look to him, our lives could never be compared.
he doesn't want to work on being a better father, then i won't be his daughter.
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YOU ARE READING
𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄.
Poetrywhen will the death of one come, who has the pain of making choices ? © -ewhumans (2024) lowercase intended
