“i wish i looked like my mother,”
but i have my father’s face.
when i laugh or smile i see
a look that could have been traced.

sometimes i look like my mother,
i think i see it in myself.
“i hope i grow up to look like you,”
i tell my mom at 12.

when i feel helpless and afraid,
i look like my mother at 14. 
married off to an old man 
that she had never seen. 

when i worry i can’t make rent, 
i look like my mother at 19. 
an immigrant who quickly learned 
to live within her means. 

when i care for my little brother, 
i look like my mother at 25. 
a young mom of three,
her youth did not survive. 

when i argue with my boyfriend, 
i look like my mother at 28. 
being with dismissive men 
seemed to be her fate. 

when i am insecure and self conscious, 
i look like my mother at 30. 
wearing spanx because motherhood 
made her feel unworthy. 

when i have men call for me,
i look like my mother at 33. 
always followed around
and worried for her safety.

when i am exhausted after work, 
i look like my mother at 35. 
clocked in to her second job, 
prepping dinner with kitchen knives.

when i am sick of cleaning my house, 
i look like my mother at 41. 
nearly three decades of her life 
picking up after a daughter and two sons. 

when i feel useless and alone,
i look like my mother at 45.
all of her kids have grown,
but she’s too tired to feel alive.

i am now 23,
the age my mother had me.
“i do look like my mother
when i don’t laugh or smile, you see.”



Author's Note

I wanted to somehow share my mother’s story of hardship, while also capturing my feelings towards it. I wrote about all of the struggles she has gone through, from being a child bride, to an immigrant in America, to her broken marriages and single motherhood. It wasn’t until I was older that I truly realized how hard she has had it and how much society had failed her.