Ann

Except… I’m not.

I’m not cruel.

I’m not reactionary.

I’m not unfair. Or unwilling.

I’m not scary. I’m not angry.

I’m not the werewolf in my dreams. The one that lurks, and preys, and waits until I let my guard down to eat away at me.

I don’t demand people’s fear because I’m too afraid I won’t earn their respect.

I have empathy. I have emotional intelligence.

I’m not my father’s daughter.

No. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

Except…I think that maybe I am.

I think about that time when I made a girl cry in middle school because she made me feel small.

Or the time I called my landlord a cunt because she made me feel weak.

How many times have I taken someone’s power

to stop feeling powerless?

I think I am my father’s daughter.

I think he’s in every part of myself that I hate.

I think that maybe he was his father’s son.

I think he’s tried and failed to cope with his monster.

I think I’m destined to repeat the cycle.

But fuck destiny. I’ll create my own.

I’ll scratch and claw away at the monster he's made me until it learns to fear me.

I’ll eat that monster down to its bones.

I’ll swallow it whole.

I am my father’s daughter.