I am my mother’s daughter.

I was talking on the phone this afternoon with my mom, and as the conversation turned to our usual topics of our to do lists and dogs, I acknowledged a fact I had ignored far too long:

I am my mother’s daughter.

I think this realization began when someone asked me which parent I’m closer to.

I told him I’m a Daddy’s girl,

but I am my mother’s daughter.

I run fearlessly ahead with an independent 

I seek ways to be my own person when the world would tell me otherwise.

I see what I want and achieve it 

My gypsy soul carves its path of blazing fire.

The world will watch me break its rules and ask why

I insist on defying gravity.

Because I am my mother’s daughter.

On the days when I wonder if anyone sees me

the way I see myself

I laugh and remember my smile is her reflection

and she taught me to devour life this way.

Again, I see it:

I am my mother’s daughter.

And again

I am not afraid

to be my mother’s daughter.

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