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 greet the old woman
at the door are all 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 but mine alone. I go where
I am free to cradle my own faults and
not feel as 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.