the storm I created

she broke into this world  
a storm wrapped in pink blankets
the daughter that borrowed my eyes
my temper
my frown
my tendency to stand  
at the edge of shadows
 
what else could we do but spark?
 
squarin up over nothin and everythin
we catch fire the same way
quiet and hot
both refusin to bend or break
same flush in our cheeks
 
I still see her as four
hands on her hips
determination set  
in the corners of her mouth  
small voice deliverin judgement
speakin fluently in disappointment  
already understandin the weight of broken promises
 
she kept track of my failures
missed softball games
dinners gone cold at the table
the way I’d mumble tomorrow and mean never
missed years where my selfish desire
became more important than bedtime stories
 
she was the hardest to win back
my most skeptical critic
my harshest judge
dismissin my attempt with eyes too old
testin each promise with a familiar scowl
shinin a light on all of my cracks
 
now I see her standin tall
fierce and unyieldin  
takin on the world with the same fire
that once burned in anger between us
 
relief isn’t a big enough word
to describe what rises in my chest
when her number lights up my phone
to share her victories with me
shiftin the broken piece in me toward healin
 
in those moments I hear the ghosts
of every battle against each other
of every standoff
of every slammed door
of every time i recognized myself
too clearly in her
 
she is the reflection I couldn't bear  
a livin testimony to what i nearly ruined  
the best parts of me  
pulled from wreckage  
proof that even thru all the dark hours  
sometimes broken people create beautiful things