In progress of thought

I am the child of my mother, but I am not my mother's daughter. She raised me with her ideals but I kept my own. I have her eyes but not her perspective. I will not embody her mistakes. Where she lays her comfort and sleep like a blanket is not my home, not where I feel safe, happy. I will not stop at her dead ends. I do not take after, share traits, resemble, remind people of, am just like, or am a smaller version of. I will not follow her lead, where she goes left, I go southeast. I am her daughter. She is my mother. But I am not, and will never be, my mother's daughter.