I was born in the legacy of a poet, both blessing and curse.

A poet who poured his drinks as often as he penned verse.

Hasty, swift, trembling wrists, alternating, tipping and rising.

I thought it was a game, a movie, he was always disguising,

Compromising his health, family, soul, yet blinded, stoic.

Till one day his poisoned blood decided to stop flowing.

I was born twice, once in death, had to learn early I must keep going.

Left with half a soul, from its withered branches growing

A voice, echoes of hope, pure love, stability, an ability

To deal with life's highs and lows with humility,

Learnt to give it my all, love deep, speak my truth freely.

I live life as if there might not be a tomorrow, and I know that ideally

In the day to day life I should be less dreary, leave that aside

Despite pesimism, I take things in my stride,

I do it all in one day, bit manic, love, cry, smile and hide.

Even went to work the day after my mum died.

They said I was brave, and something about God

In my shock, all I could do was stare down and nod

I understand death still makes us uneasy, in grief

We feel tongue tied, if only there would be a relief

Thus religion is tossed, and we turned the leaf

From compassion to saying the right things,

**** it, I will not apologise for my mood swings.

I will allow myself to feel it, I will heal in my own time

Ok, Karen? with your silly 5 stages of grief slime

I will be fine, for I was born from the love of a poet and his muse.

Dad always said mom made him feel like the blues,

I am song, I am storm in a freaking tea cup and most importantly I just am right now.

So I will laugh and cry as I please, never bow

And yes, Karen, I'm talking about you, you snide cow.

By Madalina Schiopu

From: United Kingdom