the blower's daughter

kindred spirits in this life
his mind, my eye
i am the fruit
that sits closest to him
not wanting to fall too far from
the hymn in me
speaks in song
i feel him
and weep for us
his addiction, our burden
stifles those that love
those that long
to call him
daddy
longs to be free
to be seen as such
so he takes that hit
and i go down...

i am not a fighter
but a lover
of the image i see
mirrored in flaws