Hey, Dad.
I heard that you found someone else.
I imagine you saying,
"Someone kinder.
Someone sweeter.
Someone better."
Better than her,
that is.
You wouldn't dare.
You'd see her crying
in a ball on the floor
in an instant.
And you still wouldn't care.
In fact, you do
see her crying
in a ball on the floor
anyway,
but do you care?
No.
Not your problem,
is it?
And after all she's done for you.
Your wife.
Remember her?
14 years of
Love.
Care.
Respect.
Forgiveness.
Do you care?
No.
Instead, you tower over her,
like you're observing a different
species
and look
perturbed,
careless,
and offended.
Well, wipe that look of your face,
before I get up and smack it off.
But no.
'Can't do that
to poor daddy
cause you'll do
awful things to me, too.
You can make my life miserable,
don't I know?
But the truth
you hide, beneath your layers
and layers of lies
is blame,
cowardice,
and embarrassment.
Because it is
you
who is
not kind,
and not sweet.
And,
apparently,
the Other
is more important
than our home,
your reputation,
us,
and mom.
But you don't care.
Do you?
YOU ARE READING
My Voice Through Poetry
PoetryDepressed + gay = poetry 🤯 ⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING: including (but not limited to) self-harm, abuse, mental hospitals, eating disorders, and suicide.
