The architecture of breaking

You handed down a heavy chain,
and taught me how to speak in pain.
You left blueprints made of bruises
and expected me to build the same house—
but I threw out the architectural plans of your anger.

I spent a lifetime checking my skin,
searching for where your ghost crept in.
Fearing the echo of your voice,
fearing I wouldn't have a choice.

But today I looked into the glass,
and watched your heavy shadow pass.
Look at my hands, they do not strike.
Look at my heart, we are not alike.

There is no trace of you in me.

Where you planted silence, I speak.
Where you threw stones, I built bridges.
I am made of your DNA, yes,
but my kindness is entirely my own.

The cycle stops, the glass is clear.
You are the history.
I am the future.
And they look nothing alike.