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I dislike my father
I say this after careful reflection and study of him throughout the years
interactions that are vapid and entirely forced that when he asks, “how are you doing?” feels more like an insult rather than a greeting because it’s me that always does the calling and it’s always been that way, getting short changed because the guy just doesn’t know how to reach out unless he wants something and till this day he still half assess it, so I don’t call or bother any more
The fever leaves behind its soot to amuse over, dense hindsight like low bearing fruit over acres of heartache and the cliche sounds of a crying fool
I’ve been hunting the ****** that hides inside of me for years but still No Luck! in getting him out.

He’s crafty, pours his salt over every wound of mine then imposes his self limiting beliefs onto me to keep me bound and tethered because the truth of the matter is that he has no one or nothing else that will listen to him and that’s exactly the problem

— The End —