I Am My Father’s Daughter

My thin, dark almond eyes,

my thick, natural hair,

the birthmarks trailing down my back,

the stubbornness lodged inside me,

the way I ignite at the slightest spark.

They say I’m just like him.

Is being my father’s daughter

Why am I cast as the villain?

The problem child pastors prayed over?

The girl who left the man she loved

for thoughts she invented in her own head?

Am I my father’s daughter because, once betrayed,

I turn weakness into a weapon?

Because I’m impulsive?

Because I hurt people,

then wear the mask of a victim?

Or am I just another casualty of his fire?

Do I share his sociopathic, narcissistic tendencies?

Am I destined to become

the man everyone fears?

I think I get it.

I am my father’s daughter

because I will fight for what I want,

and not care who gets caught in the fire.

I am my father’s daughter

because I refuse to be small.

I am my father’s daughter

because I fight in a world

that makes survival a war.

I am my father’s daughter

because I’d do anything

for the ones I love.

I am my father’s daughter

because I’ll walk away

without looking back.

So tell me,

am I my father’s daughter?

A criminal?

A narcissist?

A sociopath?