12:09 am, Tuesday, 2nd January
and to a father who was supposed to love me,
I ask why,
why he couldn't love me the way he loved his other children.
I ask why he only harboured bitter feelings in regards to me,
and why it flawed a love that was once pure
when my years on the earth were not many.
I ask why with an ache that throbs painfully within my chest,
because I do not know what I have done wrong,
nor where I am flawed.
I ask as my voice quivers because of the quake of emotion that presses against my chest,
making it difficult for me to breathe.
I ask although I'll get a shrug in return,
but the answers are there,
settled firmly within the silences that he gives me.
YOU ARE READING
dysphoria
Poetrysilent pleas from a heart that's been tainted blue, a mind that ripples in constant turmoil and a mouth that remains shut //
