twenty-twenty II

My dad told me how to live

May you be blessed with all that

is good for your mind, body, and soul

and I told him how not to die

Be your own advocate and fucking

call the doctors

here I am still living

and him no longer dying

I hadn't thought about who

would walk me down

some distant aisle until

my brother asked me if

I'd be honored to have him to

at some phantom wedding

I hadn't placed myself

in that line of thinking

only placed there by the

patriarch and my brethren

and who's left to pray for me?

the spiritual types

I want in my corner

are dying

and the ones I want out

of the court

are saying they're thinking

and praying

but, really

they're persecuting and damning

and it's easier to write about politics

here than it is my dad

but normally

my poetry is more

self-involvement or -evolvement

than it is

socially charged

and so

I won't persecute or damn myself

but liberate myself and wish for blessings