The phone rings,
I pick up,
Not in fear,
Not only to wake myself from this daydream,
But pinching myself would hurt worse,
As if i'm not damaged enough,
Alcohol and incompetence infused my ears with a storm of drunken tears,
On the other end,
What could have been?
Seeing his face in the mirror was a daily routine,
and yet,
There was always patches aligning his face that blurred away his sins,
A fume of hot steam flowing out of the shower of walls he's been hiding in,
His ears,
Who not hear burden,
His mouth,
Who not speak burden,
His eyes,
Who not see burden,
I,
His,
Broken,
Burden,
A little girl who was yet so strong to fly,
and yet too nimble to catch flight,
He was he,
I was i,
I to we,
Unresponsive to the blood pumping through my veins,
Potent to the smell of a lonely book of trials and insecurity guiding my way,
A newborn teething through my grieving skin,
Of those fucked up,
Missed birthdays,
Searching past the birthday candles,
My eyes fixed straight to an empty seat for a father once-been,
I wanted security,
Strength,
Someone to check underneath the bed for the monsters that hissed and screamed for blood,
I got used to the noise that put me to sleep at night,
Secure with staying away from the monster that shared my own desires in spite,
All I've known was that,
He was my father,
Faceless,
Another stranger passing by,
Chit-chatting,
Park benches,
Sitting side by side,
His fingernails etching into the deep creases of his own brown eyes,
His own tan skin,
Your own Kaleidoscope of a cascading mistake,
Hidden inside a forsaken picture frame,
You tell your wife naive proprieties,
Your kids naive resistance,
And you still are blur as you stare into your pristine mirror,
In your pristine life of hopes and dreams?
Your burden is in those eyes you never longed to see,
But your sons are lessons,
They'll never be the same,
Their just loose leaved paper you write your mistakes on and cross off in days,
A time machine,
Showing change is for the better,
When you only want to cover up the blemish of imperfections,
You can't help but stare at that heightened mole that sprung from the tip of your nose,
Cause we all are just habits in a cycle we have no control of,
the addiction we come to know and accept the things we cannot change,
But can we really change for the better?
Jump or Swim?
Fly or Run?
Abandon or STAY?
For the kid,
One of your precious lifelines,
Who you not only gave life to but promised the moon and stars above in the pursuit of their happiness,
Along the midst of a life that can easily take another life away,
With divine intentions,
To mock our ambitions,
Of fatherhood,
Those who cannot tame,
Maybe fathers shouldn't leave their children after then,
Maybe fathers shouldn't impregnate their women before when,
Not ready to take a step,
Cross a mile,
Wipe my tears away from a broken heart,
Hear my genuine laugh of accomplishment,
Make me smile,
For once,
The light I envisioned to light along the constellations of a stable marriage milky way that lit along the white picked fence of unity,
Burnt out among another statistic,
He was nothing I wanted to believe in,
As the knife of despair embellished my scar of repentance,
He aimed for my back,
His own back,
Anywhere else?
So I couldn't see his face shadowed by the blur I'll always envision him with,
But the face who's name stuck out at me like a sore thumb,
He was him,
Transfiguring itself to a shattered house that I had nothing else but to call home,
He pushed me in the oceans thunderous waves,
Fatally turning away from his naive figment of imagination,
Feeding me to a forceful tide of abandonment,
Proving an analogical fallacy that blood is not thicker than water,
He said "I'm just a phone call away"
Cautious to hear a broken whisper,
Still acknowledging those three little,
Yet contradicting words,
Falling like Autumn leaves off of my tongue,
"So am I"
I hung up.
