Thorn Tree

I see the lack of resemblance
like you
I am nothing like my parents
despite always wearing my favorite genes
that fit like a glove
I still love
them
like kin.

Inherited place cards
occupy our dwelling
in life
and death,
where assigned
I never did mind...
until the differences
became clearer
than the need to be near
the trunk of the family tree.

Oil and vinegar
I live separate and away
in my own impermeable cell.
Peaceful and joyous, limitless,
I stored no blame
that my aim was just further
than their eyes could go
Alone, I continue to grow.

Mom made her bed
I said in my head
noticing her envious stare
his following her with a glare.
Stepdad's always mad,
but I'm glad for what I had-
pushing me far away,
finding my freedom today,
to say
it couldn't be any other way.

It is said I will turn into you
by the age of forty-two,
but my posture is still perpendicular,
my vernacular is particular
to my own family, future forward
I step into the newest version
of heredity conversion
with relational aversion.

The carving of a new generation
an artistically starved creation
the recipe for degeneration
juxtaposed by gestation
inherently bound by cessation
the state of our familial relation,
recessive by genetic translation.


 Image credit: By Luca Galuzzi (Lucag) [CC BY-SA 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons, Thorn Tree, Namib Desert, Namibia.