when my back is sore, i am my mother.
when my mouth is violent, i am my father.
saying how it is your fault, i am my mom.
when i work and hate being bothered, i am my dad.
my trivial love of flowers and butterflies, i am my mother.
the unspoken things, the silent emotions, i am my father.
when i have to scream, i am my mother.
when i have to scream *at someone* i am my father.
my undying addiction to reading and words, i am mom.
with my constant counting and compulsions, i am my dad.
when i hate myself i am my mother.
when i hate everyone else, i am my father.
being a child, i am my mother.
being a baby, i am my father.
when i want everything for everyone else, i am my mother.
when i want everything for myself, i am my father.
in these moments of self-pity, i am my mom.
in the moments of self-glorification, hello dad.

i am a product of two circles, joined, overlapping.
a ring of fire and a lake of ice.