I am what I am not

I am footprints in wet sand

and my mother’s morning cup of coffee.

I am the chocolate in a peanut butter cup

and a pair of wolves who mate for life.

I am the soil in which flowers grows endlessly

and hot apple cider during the winter.

But I am not my sister’s brown curls,

or acorns falling from trees.

I am not my father’s hair dye,

or a wooden boardwalk during the summer.

And I am definitely not homemade brownies,

or my grandma’s old kitchen table.

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