From my journal to the Quest

Carnations and rose thorns 

A daughter scorned 

In my chest, you are there 

On the steps

Gasping for air 

Combing my hair 

Pulling my ear 

Shoving down my throat 

What I mean to you 

Your hope 

Your dreams 

Passed down to me 

In the depths of my debts 

I search for who I would be 

If not a runaway with something to prove 

With everything to lose 

“If a mother was Sacrifice personified, 

then a daughter was Guilt, with no possibility of redress” 

Milan Kundera 

Grier Vasquez