I often dream about killing my dad.
And what if I do?
Blood smeared on my hands and
church clothes
that grandma bought me because mom hates church.
There is also my mother screaming;
louder because he turned me into a murdered.
When the cops arrive;
shit! I will spit on them, I hate cops.
Now I'll have to tolerate half an hour in their car because traffic is shit.
Wish I could also kill traffic.
At the police station, they won't give me any water because my hair
has a strange color,
also because I just killed my dad, fuck.
My clothes are smelling of
brains and bigotry.
The officer who apprehended me
misgendered me.
Must be because I forgot to put my binder on.
But hey, Susan, if your father had treated you like mine did,
you'd be sitting besides me in that cell,
probably crying because you look like a pussy.
Can I change my name legally in prison?
My father is dead so I guess I can.
When I get my first phone call,
you will be it.
I'll tell you how sorry I am and
dedicate you a song that the guard will be humming besides me.
You'll cry.
And so will I.
You'll yell at me.
But I'll be too busy crying to speak.
I'll be missing you but at least I'll know
for sure that there is no God.
What God grants you with such a hateful dad?
I'd fall asleep crying
because I left you without saying goodbye.
Yet everything is a dream.
My mind slips into thoughts like these
from time-to-time.
Escaping reality
is healing sometimes.
YOU ARE READING
Lighthouse
PoetryA lighthouse is your only hope in the vast ocean and you can only hope the crashing waves won't tear it apart. Poems that I wrote in order to live. Each photo that is accompanying each poem is mine, representing memories which go back years. © Alex...
