in parentheses

I am not the dream they made

You hide because I am not the

Father of your children nor the

Ghost of a love they took from

You and made something sick.

You have not been running

Because you have not been

Searching. You do not even

Tell it to yourself alone

Because it doesn’t respond.

You go through your days like

A trophy abandoned in a hole

In the middle of a photo finish

Family and you cannot speak

To them but hope for them

And love where they cannot

Because if you cannot be a

Sister or a daughter then maybe

You can be a mother to them all.

I am whatever I am and I am

Sorry because I think I may

Love you but I am just like

All of them.