Reflection

Through the eyes of my father,
I am nothing but a reflection.
I take your name, fit in your shoes,
run in it to find myself.

To the chalk marks on the board, the lines that defined me,
you taught me the right, the wrong and the patience.
Wise your words, the chalk on my hand,
I sketch the future.

Identifying the women in me, I see what you feel, what you fear.
I agree, I disagree, I have an understanding of myself.
I need no liberation, no empowerment,
here, I may loose anything but my pride.

To the choices I make, to the people I forgive,
to the places I go and the places I walk away from,
shifting are my perceptions, but not of myself.
Firm yet delicate, frivolous yet sensible, moments of happiness
slack-line it has been, the existence.

To every path I may take, some sharp turns they may be,
the lines I may cross, the lines I may draw,
the love I may get and the ones I may loose,
nothing but the consequences shall remain,
the reflections of me, a tomb stone in the end.