My father was a God
No wonder I felt I was warring with fate
That rage
I see all the old ways
The thick strength of your hands
That old timey jargin
Like artifacts buried in the desert
The wind shifts and I stumble over an old relic
I was tired
Worn through
It’s jarring
To be cluttered with your DNA
Even things I thought were idiosyncratic
Unique
Just remnants
Of your tattered cloak
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