I have this belief
That everything is inherited.
As we process, blossom, age, die
Energy everlasting is transformed.
Audacity and a nervous flair from my father,
Hips and logophilia from my mother.
Did the milky white rocks and pipe
Of my paternal DNA morph
Into my addiction to shopping, sugar, and that Sprite burn?
How did the hustle to provide, the passion for crafting, the rewiring and reworking of her brain
Curl itself into confining myself into isolation?
They say everything is inherited.
How do I recycle my damage?
Upcycle my joy.
Femme Noir 