draculazy

Heirloom

My mother is a widow
And a divorcee.
They say
Loneliness is inherited.
Isn't that always
The way? 
I look into the mirror
And see 
The worst parts
Of her face.

There's a curse on 
The women
Of my family. 
Grandmother, my mother
And me; 
We attract tragedy. 
Falling in love                                                    And then falling apart                                        Is my only                                                         Legacy.

It starts in a garden; 
A heart attack.
And then
The rope
That broke his back. 
Does it end with me?
Will earth
Cut some slack for 
 A battered and broken
Paranoiac?  

The hand-me-down
Necklace
Feels like a noose,
My mother's touch
Seems to burn.
And still,
I don't seem to learn
That love
Always ends in
An urn.   

Always still I pause 
To pray
That one day, 
Someone will hear
My whole story
And still choose
To stay. 
I'll deny my inheritence
And maybe
I'll turn out okay.

Comments1

  • FineB

    Thanks Draculazy.

    A wonderful poem. I loved it.

    Keep writing
    FineB



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