At age 5,

My father and I

would journey to find hidden treasure,

pirate maps in hand,

marking the spot behind the silver slide

that peeled the skin off my little body

from the suns hot kiss.

Not soon after,

old women would crash our imaginary world,

a place so far from reality it felt real,

Shattering it into a million pieces just to say:

“How cute, you look just like your father”

I was always so happy to hear those words,

to know that I looked like the handsome captain of our indestructible ship.

Then at age 12,

as my body began to take a rather large shape,

my hips grew wider and my breasts stretched farther out,

I stopped being compared to my dad,

because people started to notice that my baby blue eyes and my harsh,delicate face

were that of a McMulkin,

the only thing left of Honiker gene was

clumsiness and the curse of the thunder thighs.

At orientations,

teachers automatically knew who my mother was

Because out of a million other faces in the room,

Hillary McMulkin Honiker couldn’t be missed.

And at age 15,

I always asked why…

why does my mom smile when we are compared?

Why is it that the shape of our flesh is exactly the same?

I know her weaknesses because they are mine as well.

The raw stubborn fights

where our words begin to swallow each others,

the cruel comebacks

piercing our hearts with each phrase we try to push off,

the raw emotions we share

laid out on our faces for anyone to see…

It all reminds me that we are one.

And now at age 17

When I look into the crystal balls of blue

sitting upon my mothers face,

I realize its a reflection of who I am,

and what I know I will one day become.