I'm not a family pattern.

She woke up with a mom,

who always had a white lip above her lip,

It wasn't the cake batter.

 

Laughing,

and crying.

Then laughing some more.

But noone seemed to see her pain.

Instead, she kept going,

kept perservering.

 

Reproduction happened in an instant,

and all of a sudden there was a child.

Eyes wide open,

Ready.

Always ready.

 

The child didn't know anything about her mom.

She didn't know her smell,

her luagh,

or her name.

 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Parallel universes finally became perpendicular.

She found her mom,

dead.

 

The child wanted to stop,

take a break at a red light that never turned green.

She couldn't,

because she didn't want to be another family statistic.

Grandma

D

O

W

N

Mother

D

O

W

N

That's 2/3... you are the only one left.

 

But she turned the light on, 

and made it green again.

Breath by breaht,

she kept living.

Sticking her face into books, instead of drugs.

Focusing on her education, instead of relocation. 

 

This isn't hereditary.

I'm different.

I'm strong.

I'm alive.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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