poetry// confessions

few understand the burden
of being introduced as your
Father’s Daughter. All of a
sudden your words are not
your own but the both of yours
the way you hold your head
the way you dress the way
you form syllables and sit down
to eat and g
reet the old woman
at the door are a
ll testaments to
his character too.
I find myself seeking spaces where I
am invisible Or where I know that
those faces know enough of his
to know that my sins and faults and
the long list of regretful things I’ve
said and done ought not to be stains
on his own reputation or character or
dignity b
ut mine alone. I go where
I am free to cradle my own faults and
not feel a
s though I have cost the man
I love most to suffer a less than good

opinion of someone because of me
and my sorrowful human-hood.

2 thoughts on “poetry// confessions

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