(authors note: this poem is dealing with the loss of a person in death, if for whatever reason you wish to not read about that, skip this one)
It hasn't gotten easier, not one bit.
The days go by, sometimes I just want to quit.
I try and stand tall, I really do
But the thought kills me that I'll never again see you.
Tangible objects of yours sometimes help, but I just want your hugs.
I know maybe my choices aren't something you're proud of,
What father would be proud of alcohol and drugs?
Just remember no matter what I'll always love you, my best friend, my favorite man, through and through.
No one will ever be quite as great as you.
I'm proud to have called you my father, to this day.
I hope you're somewhat proud of your bucket, too.
(a/n: if anyone's wondering, my dads nickname for me was/is bucket so that is why it says that in the last line :)
YOU ARE READING
original poems :)
Poetryi have a knack for poetry and i'm not terrible at it, i'm terrified of negative feedback but this was worth a shot. enjoy.
