Brown Pelican

I look at the surface of my skin and trace the jade veins encased.

Follow them with flesh tone fingertips from tips of fingers and down my arms again.

Each and every crimson capillary passed down, hereditary.

Blood of your blood.

Genetically and technically the last living part of you; you had no sons.

Just two daughters you raised like men as not to need one.

With a last name like “Pelican” it’s a shame the name won’t live on.

But I will.

Brown eyed girl like a brown pelican with purple hair.

I feel you there.

A spectrum of spectacular color and I’m spinning like a spool of trying to create a blanket out of the fabric of my being.

I wanna leave behind something with meaning.

Color me cocky; I’m my father’s daughter.

Prefer my genetic make up to the make up that gets bought up.