To my daughter,

My wounds will encompass your soul

yet,

Slowly you’ll evacuate.

You’ll detach from me as an untethered soul,

A heart waiting to be broken

Aching to feel something, to have your own wounds to place band-aids on.

To pass to your own child

To laugh, to smile or cry

We’ve felt it all

We pass it on until we’re distant memories

And pictures that hang ignored

We hide our truth like stories from our past

Yet, we carry them in our bags

We spread them throughout the world.

Placing our pain and joy in empty corners,

Imprinting ourselves onto other people so that we’re not forgotten so quickly

I fear everything because I’m sure of nothing

Yet I told the story as if I knew exactly what was going on

But truly, I’m figuring it out.