When I look in the mirror,

I often see my mother’s face.

Eyes, beady and angry.

Nose, bloody and broken.

Teeth, jagged and raw.

My mother used to say that

the women in her family

were born vindictive and spiteful,

enmity coursing through our veins.

This was a curse

she blessed upon me

at birth,

a curse spanning

generation after generation.

Oftentimes,

I fall victim to the cycle,

spitting and cussing at

those around me,

a resentful old hag

at my young age.

It is at those times where

I look in the mirror and

see my future.

I used to blame my mother,

and her mother before her

for the misfortune

they cast upon me.

What have I done to deserve

this misery,

this despair?

When I look in the mirror,

it is not my mother’s face

that gazes back at me.

It is my own.