my father,

how he ever got laid
is beyond me,

how I was conceived
is beyond me too,

when all you want to do is
work
work
work
there’s no room for affection
towards your children and
no companionship towards
your significant other

but he strives so much
for a reputation of being
“the hardest working man alive”

and when he’s not at work,
he’s talking about work
or his fathers before him
and how they were even
harder working men

a whole blood line of
genetical hard working
people that ends right
here with me

I can’t blame him for that,
that’s all he knows to talk about

but why spend most of your time at work?

maybe he doesn’t like his home life?

for that, I can’t blame him either,
if I had his home life,
I’d be at work all the time too.

I just can’t fathom the idea of
growing up and spending most
of your time away from your
loved ones and be with people who
are hand picked by someone else
whether you like them or not

and for what?

for money?

money is just the lubricate that makes
getting ***** by the world a little
more tolerable and a little less raw

unseen by many
and directly deposited
into their bank accounts,
to unevenly disperse
amongst conglomerates
who hold the keys
to the little things
you need for
comfort and convenience
only to be left with very little
or none of it

if brilliance is footsteps
then I’m stepping off and
away from this revolving
record of solipsism

my father was never there
for me physically or emotionally
but always had me financially,
all of which, have taught me
the same thing...

nothing at all.

so whatever
I’m doing
in my life,
I’ll let him know
the same thing
he taught me...

nothing at all.

what I’m doing with it
will be a gift to myself

and only belong to me

but what do I know?

I’m just a **** mopper
at the local peep show.