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Poetry

Before I ever dreamed of not pleasing my father (and this was before his hair turned gray, although he tells it otherwise) I filled hours imagining the ways I was better, superior to my sisters, mother, all others who could not dream the way I dreamed of being Daddy’s favorite –the golden child The Unmarred, The Worthy. I am none of those kinds of child I am no longer child, golden, unmarred or otherwise. I have, with great reluctance, accepted my position of adult, mother, Woman. My dreams now revolve

In my once upon a time, I wore a veil cloaked myself from dangers handed down, family history. Swaddled in soft cloth, layers upon layers my spirit- winterized. This behavior snowballed beyond its season. You can’t winterize yourself against Summer’s sun. Smoked out, nature-burnt the layers peeled away without guilt and I lay swathed not in madness. The veil: a metaphor of humility, protection, of freedom. But I was never free as the day I threw my veil in the sun, cast off my history and staked claim to a

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