My father said I have my his will of stone
\nand my mother’s heart of gold,
\nwith my grandmother’s powerful words,
\nand my grandfather’s pride, threefold.<\/p>\n
My ancestors’ stories tell legends so old,
\ntheir stories of sorrows will fill you with woe.
\nIf you under their words, then
\nyou’ll understand why they define me.<\/p>\n
If you open your mind
\nand listen so closely,
\nyou might also hear my stutter
\nwhen I tell you my story.<\/p>\n
My words, they tell history,
\nand history does not lie.
\nSo if the truth’s too much to bear,
\nI’ll stop to draw a line.<\/p>\n
My family was not rich,
\nWe grew up by the sea.
\nMy grandpa was a fisherman,
\nand my grandma sold cheap tea.<\/p>\n
But in my younger mind,
\nmy father was a prince.
\nMy mother, the fair maiden,
\nthat my father had to win.<\/p>\n
My parents had to work their way up,
\nand in America, they were rich.
\nThey had leather bags and leather seats,
\nand granted my every wish.<\/p>\n
But when I turned ten,
\nthe truth became clear.
\nWe were hungry, tired, and poor.
\nand I knew my parents were scared.<\/p>\n
When the scandal hit the papers,
\nour name became a curse.
\nThe day my father started smoking
\nwas the beginning of the worst.<\/p>\n
It drove my mother crazy,
\nand she found peace in illegal highs
\nuntil she took too much,
\nand went beyond the sky.<\/p>\n
I’m sixteen years old
\nand my name’s in the news.
\nThey call me the only daughter
\nof Cupertino’s dirtiest two.<\/p>\n
They only see the bad,
\nI wish they knew the truth,
\nabout father’s charity,
\nand what my mother used to do.<\/p>\n
I wish they opened their eyes,
\nthe way I hope you’re doing right now.
\nI wish they would understand
\nthat my father never wanted this crown.<\/p>\n
My name is a heavy burden,
\nbut still, I’ll carry it with pride.
\nIt’s made me walk a little slower,
\nbut it will never break my stride.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My father said I have my his will of stone and my mother’s heart of gold, with my grandmother’s powerful words, and my grandfather’s pride, threefold. My ancestors’ stories tell legends so old, their stories of sorrows will fill you with woe. If you under…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1397,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-70688","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/70688","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1397"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=70688"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/70688\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":70716,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/70688\/revisions\/70716"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=70688"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=70688"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=70688"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}