I am not my father's daughter

I wrote this a while ago to vent my feelings.

I am not my father's daughter.

Instead, I am my mother's.

I'm as comely and dulcet as her and more,

or so she says.

She says I'm as gentle and calm as a flower.

I'm nothing like my father.

He's rough and ridged, never allowing you to be the loudest.

I've always been stepping on eggshells, waiting for that inevitable snap.

He puts work over family,

and even more so, himself.

He will never apologize for what he has done, for I have no proof of it.

I am my mother's daughter.

I speak with a tone so soft and gentle as to not startle anyone.

And yet,

I can feel something tugging at me inside.

I am not my father's daughter.

I look in the mirror and see the placid look of my mother's eyes looking back at me.

But when I look deeper,

I see the resentful glint of my father.

I am not my father's daughter.

But here lately I can feel the hatred and bitterness churning inside,

ready to drown me at any given moment.

I am not my father's daughter,

but people are walking on eggshells around me.

Waiting for that same inevitable snap.

My anger burns a disgusting carmine,

bleeding from my pores, suffocating the people around me.

When I look into that same dreadful mirror,

I no longer see that beautiful serene look of my mother.

Instead, I see my father's insufferable smile staring back at me.

Undoing all that I have done to be nothing like him.

I feel it unraveling, ripping, tearing at my seams that I worked so hard to mend,

begging me to let it out.

No longer do I feel like my mother's daughter.

Instead I am my father's.

Author's Note

Tell me what you think?