Dear Father,
You had me convinced
that I was simply
the misstep in a
carefully lain plan:
a variable in some
grand, cosmic equation
or just the marriage
of ***** and regret…
to you, I felt like
the sticky, black
afterthought at the edge
of an addiction.
You beat me to a
gangrenous tinge
or until the bruises turned
a darkly, black burn.
You rendered me broken, addled;
our “good times”,
became dusty , old yesteryear
I had read cover-to-cover;
memorized, then forgot them
in one quick, embittered glance.
And now, you've vanished, a feather
in a magician‘s cap:
a soluble secret
exposed to a single tear.
As always, I guess I’ll
just pretend to be your daughter,
…and you’ll pretend, in return, that
I was never born.
Sincerely,
Your mistake.
I wrote this for my dad. He walked out on me and my mother when I was seven. Sometimes I almost forget his picture or how he looked like. He was a cop and I remember one day I grabbed his gun when he wasn't looking and he slapped me. That was the first and last time he ever hit me. He's not a bad person but he acts like one. I don't hate him, I never did. You know? When you get that feeling of loving someone but at the same time you dislike him for something bad that he did? Well, that's how I feel about my father. Everyone with a heart forgives... I forgave him.