replica

I am seventeen years old
I look like my mother
i am the replica
the second daughter
of the golden mold
now showing its dead
lead
soul

I look like my mother
For all the magic of tight jeans
and tighter words
My fairy-ring of dark makeup
and darker poetry
drawn mysteriously at midnight
where I’ll crouch
alone to cultivate my strangeness
to be away from her

I look like my mother
I’ll save it like a curse
Until I become her
The dead will bury the living
And I will burn her picture
But someone will always know