I want to be mad at him.
I want to be cold towards him,
But I cannot.
How can I hate the man who have me life?
He's an ass, yes,
He can get very loud and obnoxious,
And he can get way too out-of-hand,
But I've grown to love this man,
No matter what I do.
He changed my diapers,
Patched a scraped knee,
Helped with school projects.
It's had to not think
Of memories to come.
He'll wipe my tears of heartbreak,
Cook those wonderful, homemade meals,
And eventually,
Walk me down the isle,
To hand me off to another man.
Only then could it become a cycle.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for the Pained
ПоэзияThis is just poetry that I've randomly written, and feel like publishing them will help or inspire others. They're all pretty short. Please, no hatful remarks.
