Dear Father

I’ll probably never finish this poem.

I consistently debate with myself “Did I really even know him?”

I escape my life

by writing these rhymes

wasting my time

while continuously losing my mind.

It’s so hard to stop when all I think about is my life’s inner clock

ticking and chiming away

till eventually nothings left

except my body to decay.

My friends try to stop me

showering me with unconditional love,

Yet I carry myself lazily

desperately in need of a hug.

Sweeping away those heavy emotions

underneath the rug,

I could careless about myself

I say everyday.

If that were the case,

why do I choose to stay?

I could end it all in a moment

nobody could stop me.

Blood pouring from my veins

nothing more than another lifeless body.

Would their tears flood the world?

Would I just cause more pain?

I write this all down and honestly feel kind of ashamed.

If it’s really what I say,

Then why do I fight it?

Why should I stay?

I’m honestly not sure if I have a true answer

even if I do does it actually matter?

The constant pitter-patter

bouncing around my head

If you were still with me now

Would I prefer to be dead?

I don’t know.

But I let these feelings flow consistently

luckily,

the one thing that does keep me grounded

is the fact mom would miss me.

There’s Molly and Sage,

Mom, the rest of the Family.

I care enough about them to store

these ideations in my minds vanity.

I realize I need help

medicines are temporary.

But give motivation

a somewhat silent temptation.

I feel somewhat controlled

maybe I should live on

until I’m Grey and Old.

Furthermore,

I’d like to apologize,

For putting the blame on you

tears had blinded my eyes.

Growing up I’ve come to understand

fate happens for a reason.

I may not believe in god

but you did

and wanted to be with him.

I constantly obsess over

the subject in question.

Did your addiction take control?

Did you really want to see heaven?

I remember being 12

unaware of the prescriptions

that caught you in their grasps

way before I was born.

I couldn’t comprehend

you had such a troubling past.

Were you truly stuck

in a never-ending constriction?

There’s a lot I’ve skipped out on,

I could talk about the fighting,

your anger filling the house,

you yelling at mom

the words striking like lightning,

that realization you were wrong.

In my fully honest opinion,

While I can remember,

It doesn’t matter.

You were still a great dad,

despite the latter.

So now’s the part to list the good things,

Watching Anime Together,

Playing Videogames,

7-11 Afterschool,

breaking my night curfew,

Just to spend those few extra hours with you.

Going to the gym,

McDonalds at Midnight,

crying about middle-school bullies,

while you embraced me real tight.

Watching you raise Molly,

Sage and I as your own.

Despite our different fathers,

To you,

we were more than just a bother

we were part of your home.

That meant the world to us,

no matter the hateful words we say.

We’ll continue to carry your name

and push through those tough days.

One more thing.

I know it keeps dragging on.

There’s a couple

words to say on behalf of mom.

I wanted to write

give her some closure.

You understood her stubbornness

trust me we both know it.

Even though we’d pretend we didn’t when she showed it.

Her strength to power on through

all of her health problems,

the constant blame to herself

because she’s heartbroken

and wants to take fault.

So for her I say

“I miss you.”

Despite your addiction

she cared a lot.

Especially growing up together

I feel that’s why she’s so distraught.

I took the mask she wore

carry it to this day.

Consistently wearing it,

Stuck to my face

like the paste

from paper-mache.

While this was supposed to be about you

I made it about my feelings.

A grim attempt at a way of self healing.

I can’t lie and say I knew

the relationship between you both.

But despite all the drama,

she embraced it and grew.

Like your Dolce Gabbana Cologne.

You stuck to our hearts,

Clothes,

Skin,

and everyday life.

I’m certain she was proud

for you to call her your wife.

Like your life’s story

time to close this out.

Leaving the ink

as a metaphor of all self doubt.

Along with what I consider sad

the moral of this jumble

of contradictory words

and conflicting statements.

Is that along with these memories,

I’m actually pretty glad.

I just wanted you to know.

I Love You

Dad.