I was born to the tired arms of teenage mother
her red hair a shelter over amniotic-soaked curls
we two met in dream- years long before my conception
I a wish a want a dream a hope
mama, seventeen, tired, met me with joy-tinged regret
a vessel of sorrow she had ever been and was yet still
this not to change in birth, in life, not even in her death
twenty-two years later with mind awry and heart adrift
mama and I, loved and abandoned by cruel hands of man
selfish to want us, to have us! somehow refusing to keep us
long have I been a daydream, a wish, to those around me
full of potential and hope for their futures, their pride, their wants
when ever have I only been me
me! with my towering anger, lording over the gardens of my sorrows
me! me! with conflict!
me! with curiosity!
long have I only and ever been me in my wealth of humanity!
imperfect child, always, from moment of conception
born not to be perfect but to be loved
born not to be revered but to live!
father, I did not know in my nights of grief and sorrow
now dreams of my becoming
becoming beautiful! becoming accomplished! becoming a vision to behold!
dreams of my becoming a daughter he may herald with pride
all this! having met me a few times a year!
my daughter, he calls me in affection, princessa
yet would I know him, a stranger, in a dark room?
become for him! mold into that strange dream he holds you in!
then might you know him, as he knows you!
as I continue in the way I have only ever been, human girl of grief and wrath
the man I grew beside to call dad, who held my hair in illness and hand in my youth
tells his sons he does not care about me
born to teenage mother, scarred and torn apart by hands of man,
I have only ever been a girl of sorrow and joy
they dream of my becoming
loving what they want me to be
rather ever than who I am
they will assure me, always assure me, dad does not mean it
and father loves you still
have I ever spoken a word as they do? men, in all their selfish glory
their hearts will not turn to you, their eyes will not bend to yours
a dad and a father both, whom I belong to neither
my teenage mother long gone, a woman abandoned in the grave
her gleaming golden-red hair dry upon the white casket pillows
her cold metal tomb encased in layers of concrete
dad says he does not care about me
father says the distance is my own making
where then, does daughter go?
when home is now a graveyard
where her mother's heart rots in the cold
