I am made of stone.
The years have eroded me into what I am,
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.
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.