By Lou Escobar

Throughout my youth, I was plagued by one thought: what if I end up like my mother?
I, like most children, was scared to look myself in the mirror and see a ghost.
Crows feet stretching across my face like branches of a sycamore 
Looking at life with a more realistic view rather than a dream to achieve 
I began to pick at my mother's flaws as if harvesting fresh produce 
And I began to ignore the qualities that grew within her for years at a time 
I may not realize, this but I have caught onto her habits like the common cold
I began to wish upon her false god praying that I grow to become a distorted figure of herself 
To gain the strength she has acquired throughout her years of abuse and self-torture 
To see life through not an hourglass, but by smiles trapped in dusty Polaroids 
To feel the wheel in my hand for once and pave my future 
To look beyond all the flaws and see that we are one in the same. 

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