Published in



A Poem on Inheritance

Photo by Kevin Wenning

I am my mother’s wounded heart, or else,
I am my mother, playing victim, each
word, moment, strung through the loom,
to create a story she tells herself, of
martyrdom, of doyenne
in despair
I am my father’s wine-soaked tongue, or else,
I am my father, flush with the fumes of Marlboro Lights
and 2 by 4’s, I am my father’s hands as they build
I am my father’s words as they tear apart. I listen to my




Together We Grow in Poetry

Recommended from Medium

i wonder if she knows… if I could cry her tears for her so that she only knew joy… I would…

Three Kinds of Sadness

When the Definition of Madness is Love

they’ll never understand

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
Tyler A. Donohue

Tyler A. Donohue

Pastimes include playing with words, using my passport, and eating croissants. A writer of all things gender, culture, and travel.

More from Medium

Grief’s Blossom: Verses About Living

On Depression and Its Lingering Shadow.

I love being gay…

Guided by the Light of a New Moon