you are my family and yet
you are not.
we share the same name and yet
i am not you.
we lived under the same roof and yet
you were just a roommate.
the distance between us so expansive
and foreign,
like the same pole of two magnets,
your approach repels me.
i was to be your perfect clone—
my brows, my nose, my mouth, my gender
my rage, my mind, my skin
all yours.
you wanted to live my life through
my achievements, my happiness, my hobbies
my social life, my love life, my life
not yours.
you parade me like a participation trophy
yet you do not polish or acknowledge my gilded edges
that Mother refined and cared for.
i mourn the You
that i admired—
the Father who made me
laugh,
embarrassed,
scared.
i mourn the You
that i feared—
the Father who made me
terrified,
red,
a laughing stock.
our family vaguely bilingual but leaning to one side.
you and mother on one side, i on the other.
count your lucky stars our languages separated us.
i would have
screamed,
yelled,
torn you apart,
left you a blabbering wretch.
i often think of how i’d feel
when you die.
will i shed a tear for you?
to mourn lost family?
to grieve my Father?
will i rejoice?
to celebrate Mother’s freedom?
(that is, you croak before Her)
but the thought made me feel nothing.
and i mourn You.
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