I grew up in a house held up by her hands,
Calloused, tired, but steady as land.
No father’s footsteps echoed through halls
Just hers, late night, answering life’s calls.

She never asked for much- never did,
Just worked and loved and raised a kid.
The fridge wasn’t always full, no gold on the shelves,
But what we had felt rich as wealth.

She spun dinners from scraps, turned winter to warm,
A smile in the struggle, a calm in the storm.
I didn’t see then what now stands so clear
She made magic from nothing, year after year.

Teenage rage sharp words, slammed doors,
Thinking I knew what life had in store.
Dreaming of leaving, of being set free,
Not seeing how much she poured into me.

Now grown, I trace back every mile,
Every sacrifice tucked in her smile.
And though I grew up sooner than planned,
It was her lessons that taught me to stand.

I see her now no cape, no crown,
But the strongest woman I’ve ever found.
And if love is measured in what we give,
Then she’s the richest soul to ever live.

I said I was fine,
like it was a song I was born to sing—
soft enough to soothe others,
loud enough to drown myself.

Childhood felt like walking
through endless hallways,
fluorescent lights humming above me,
walls echoing names I never answered to.
Invisible, but useful—
like a chair no one sits in
but never throws away.

I was the steady one,
the shoulder,
the joke at midnight
when someone else needed a reason
not to fall apart.
But I was a museum
of silent collapses,
no visitors allowed.

Growing up felt less like rising,
more like disappearing with better posture.
You hit eighteen and suddenly
you’re just supposed to be whole.
But no one saw the cracks
behind my “of course I’m okay.”

Now I sit with silence like an old friend—
not because I hate the world,
but because I learned
the safest place to cry
was always alone.

You grow up lonely,
you grow into it,
like skin you never shed.
And maybe I just want a room
with no doors,
no questions,
no saving.

Because when you’ve spent
your whole life being the lighthouse,
you forget
what it’s like to be found.

I’ve run from this truth for too long.
But today, I won’t run.

Yes — I saw you.
I walked past you.
I looked at you like a stranger, even though my blood was running through your veins.
Even though your eyes mirrored mine.
Even though my heart should have broken every time you looked at me and I didn’t look back.

And yes — I was a father to her.
I picked her up, smiled at her, laughed with her. I gave her the parts of me that I never gave you, and you watched.
You watched it all.

You watched me be everything you needed…
for someone else.

I don’t know how to say sorry in a way that can undo what I took from you — because it wasn’t just time.
It was identity.
It was feeling like you mattered.
It was hearing someone say “I’m proud of you” and knowing they meant it.
It was being chosen.

And I didn’t choose you.

Not out of your lack — but out of mine.

I was a coward.
I let my guilt, shame, and selfishness be bigger than my responsibility.
I convinced myself you didn’t need me. That you were “strong.” That you’d be fine.
But I saw the way you looked at me —
And deep down, I knew you were just trying to understand why love had conditions.

I should have held you.
I should have protected you.
I should have known that silence speaks just as loud as rejection —
And that no child should ever have to watch their father love someone else while they stand on the outside, aching.

You didn’t deserve that.

You were never invisible —
I just refused to see you.

If there’s any part of you that still carries that wound, please know: it was never your fault.
You weren’t unlovable.
You weren’t forgettable.
You were just caught in the shadow of someone who didn’t know how to be a man.

And while I can’t rewrite the past, I hope someday you find the kind of love I never gave —
The kind that sees you.
The kind that stays.

You always deserved more.