I catch myself mid-sentence—
that sharp tone,
that dismissive flick of the wrist—
and suddenly it’s not my hand
but his,
not my voice
but the echo of his impatience
rattling in my throat.
Oh, I think,
so this is how ghosts possess people—
not through haunted houses
but through double helixes.
For years, I’ve traced
my worst edges back to him:
See? This rough patch here—
his fingerprints.
This stubborn streak—
his signature.
But the mirror keeps whispering:
At what point
does the borrowed flaw
become yours to keep?
I want to carve him out of me
like a rotten plank
from a ship’s hull,
but biology is a clingy tenant—
even when I scrub,
his mannerisms
leave watermarks on my skin.
The truth is this:
I can blame his DNA
for the first twenty years,
but the next twenty
are on me.
The inheritance has cleared.
The interest is accruing
in my name.
(Still, some nights
I bargain with the moon:
If I unlearn this one thing,
can we pretend
it was never mine to begin with?
The moon, who has watched
generations repeat themselves,
only sighs
and turns away.)
Here’s the terrible math:
every year,
I become less his daughter
and more just like him.
The statute of limitations
on genetic excuses
has expired.
Now when the words slice
before I can stop them,
when I dismiss someone’s pain
with his exact cadence,
there’s no one left to blame
but the woman
who chose to keep
the worst parts
instead of sanding them down.
I stockpile apologies
like firewood,
knowing winter
always comes back.
Knowing some traits
are both heirloom
and burden—
and the will
that bequeathed them
has my name
at the bottom.
-
Author:
cha (
Offline) - Published: August 11th, 2025 07:53
- Comment from author about the poem: wrote this after I realised during dinner with my father that a lot of what i despise in myself, i despise in him too. Brought me a strange type of relief, that this wasn't "me" but him and then the scary thoughts of 'what if i never change?' came. i am too much like him now, but someday, i won't have him to blame for it. someday, people will see it as a part of me, and well, words fail me here.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Cheeky Missy, cha
Offline)
Comments3
We are parts of what we inherit and what we learn. It is one or the other so there is nothing to blame. A lovely write of shedding the skin of the past and taking on the new skin of learning and overcoming but do we really ever overcome the past. When a snake sheds its skin it is still a snake. A wonderful write.
Thank you!
You are most welcome
A wonderful heartfelt and honest write of realizing that some parts of us are inherited and if we don't like them or there not good thay are very difficult to change. We should focus on the good points that we have control over, very nicely expressed and written write
Thank you!
You are very welcome
Funny. I'm...as my late mother and two oldest brothers told me and my dad many years ago: so very much like my father that we're like two peas in a pod. He may have regretted that as he could see his own shortcomings exemplified in me night and day, in fact, I believe that was the root of our fights, whereas I'm quite content to be "just like my daddy!" Too many years ago I dated a fellow who was like you in that he hated his father's features in himself. I'm sorry you feel that way. That aside, this is absolutely gorgeous, I LOVE how beautifully this is written, wonderfully eloquent and superbly rendered with excellent imagery and a delightfully haunting poignancy. Thank you so very much for sharing. I love it!
Thank you! I think there's definitely parts of me that i've borrowed from my father that are positive, but the negatives outweigh them too much.
Don't worry, hang in there. I'm sure you're perfect, and the bits of seeming imperfection will iron themselves out.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.