Ode to My Parents

I am made of stone.


The years have eroded me into what I am,

A poet,

A daughter.

Carved by the finest of artists,

My father shakily holds a chisel 

While he hums the wisest songs,

I hope he knows I understand.

My mother, carving the small details

Into my eyes, the way they see this world

She is precise.


My parents

Never thought themselves to be fine artists

But they tell me I am the best decision they have ever made.

If we sweep regrets away

With the chipped marble and sawdust,


What is left of this masterpiece?



Sunlight streaming through windows

Landing on a single twin sized bed.

Throats burning from


Words spoken in languages

I don't think I will ever understand.


I may sit on a pedestal,

But my parents are altars

And I am a sacrifice

To a God we do not worship. 

If I had to pray,

I have only one wish.


I will do anything to make them proud.


This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741