The Patriarch

Would I ever be my father’s daughter

An aged porcelain sans cracks

Pretty but fragile

Smart but pure

Happy but not cocky

Loved but never felt safe

Would he be proud

My words in his eyes

Or write it off as one of his many regrets

Etch selfish on my forehead

Everyday for the rest of my life

Scarlet letters on crisp brown parchment

My skin was a scratch card

He, the player – forever looked for obedience

It is the drum where sounded

Screams of bones unwilling to conform

“Don’t study too much, the men won’t want you”, he said

So I, as was my wont, tried desperately to unthink things.

I then unschooled each thought taught by mighty Venuses

Because he, a hero of my life since the age of three,

Would shed tears of pride one day

For his victory over my self worth

It wasn’t his first one

He has been winning this war

……For centuries now