It’s been a long journey to not

Hate what I see in the mirror but

Now that I have seen what I have, how can I? 

 

How can I hate the long, hooked nose

That is a perfect replica of my grandfather’s?

At least I still have a piece of him left. 

 

How do I dislike the same oversized feet

That have carried my father so far, when

I get to have them too? 

 

My mother’s freckles, my grandmother’s stature, 

My eyes a perfect blending of shades. 

To hate myself is to hate every person

Who came before me and molded me. 

 

The love and reverence I have for them

Can be turned to me now, to carry them

With me. I only hope that I get to see them

Surface again someday in my children.