i've been told
that i don't look like my mother.
and it's true.
i don't.
i like to think that
i am more of my mother
in my soul
than i am
in my face.
my mother
is in my poetry.
the blood
that runs in my veins,
is the ink from my mother's pen.
virginia woolf said
that there is a nerve,
in your hand
that it holds your pen.
maybe they thought
they would succeed
in cutting me off
from my mother.
in this effort, they cut
our one apparent connection,
the umbilical cord.
little did they know,
there was another thread binding us,
and another
and another
and another
and another
and so many others that i myself have lost count.
one of these
is this nerve
virginia talks about.
my mother
is in my poetry.
-i don't look like my mother. 16//05//2018
