The Curse of Being Just Like Your Parents

We all fear it. We all can see afar off that dark cloud of eerie resemblance to mom and dad. I look like my mother, but I have my fathers passive disposition. I don’t fear the police and I love to cook, all resemblances of dad. I have my mother’s eyes and face shape. I’m tall. I have her smile. Both of my parents drank Alcohol, and I feel the taste of it on my tongue more often these days, whether or not I decided to take a drink. My mother used drugs, yet I feel I have enough mental instability that drugs would most certainly do me more of an injustice, then actually making my life a constant state of euphoria. My parents were poor. I am poor. My mother never learned to drive. I don’t drive. But I want to learn because it will greatly benefit my life. I have to further separate myself from the generational curses of my family. But as much as I’ve denounced them “in the name of Jesus”, these things still seem to follow me; hopefully, not to the grave.


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