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My Mother's Daughter

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Eight years old With my ear against your stomach,
your relinguised cotton T-shirt serves as a sanctuary
for my young credulous skin.
Just like my mind, my heart, and my soul,
the skin upon my face is impressionable.
Yet to see beyond the innocence in life,
it places its trust in your garments.
As crease-caused lines form across my cheek,
my entire being is wrapped up in your warmth.
The food being dissolved in your stomach
is a lullaby to my ears and soon my eyes begin to close.
I woke up ten years later,
only to find a whole new arrangement.
My house was devoid of your love and security,
but full of the same emotions coming from a new silhouette.
It was my first time seeing him and yet it was such a familiar feeling,
unlike the smile across my mother's face.
She was finally at peace,
stable and secure with a husband to love her,
and that night I fell asleep with my head upon her lap.
My skin was no longer young and impressionable,
and it was done diverging beneath false emotions.
That is when I knew that instead of belonging to you,
I was actually my mother's daughter all along.





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