Who Am I
More Than A Title
Who am I?
I am a daughter.
Most say I look like her.
Some say I look like him.
I just want to look like me.
Have to make everyone proud.
Who am I?
I am an employee.
Bills to pay.
Always be the best.
Never fail. Don’t slow down.
I am replaceable.
Who am I?
I am a wife.
I am domesticated.
Cook. Clean. Support.
We are a unit.
Who am I?
I am a Mother.
He looks like me.
She looks like him.
Feed. Clothe. Raise.
Don’t fail them.
Who Am I?
Beyond the titles.
Beyond the responsibilities.
Sacrificed Dreams. Loss of Self.
Who Am I?
About the Creator
Leigh Ann Tuttle
An aspiring writer waiting for the right story.
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More stories from Leigh Ann Tuttle and writers in Poets and other communities.
Count to Three
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Abigail stared at the words followed by a taunting blink of the cursor on her laptop screen. It had been five years since her therapist had told her to try writing her nightmares down. Never one to do something without purpose she turned those raving scribbles into novels and much to her surprise they had been successful. The monsters that had haunted her nights had now become her livelihood.
By Leigh Ann Tuttle2 years ago in Horror
What if no birth happens?
To remember that our collective human experience is woven into the fabric of a vast and intricate tapestry. Reflecting on the universal phenomenon of birthdays, we find ourselves confronted with the humbling reality of our existence. Despite the individual significance we attach to our special day, the sheer volume of births occurring globally serves as a reminder of our shared humanity. On any given day, hundreds of thousands of babies enter the world, each one adding to the tapestry of human history.
By Angel Ann Sajua day ago in Poets
How the Harvest Mouse Came to Suisun Bay
A long, long time ago there was a family of harvest mice. Mice are common, but these were unique – born to those who had lived in the salty, marshy bay for many generations, these mice ate and drank from the sea as well as the land and rivers. For generations, there were only the southern families, scattered along the marshes of Corte Madera and in the San Francisco Bay (U.S. Fish & Wildlife, 2013). One family, however, would undergo strife and conflict before reaching a whole new world. What became of them after is another tale entirely – but this is how their story begins.
By Taylor Inman6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Know those words. Superb sad poem!