your words wounded deeper than your fists,
and it seems like a life time ago when I forgave
you.

I find myself afraid of becoming like you once again,
the you that no longer exists, but lives botteled up in
all my passive aggressive energies.

I am afraid I might be a father that unleashes my anger
and frustrations at my future baby, and yet in my heart
I know that I am free.

I know father that you were a child of abuse like me,
and you did the best you could.  I dont't have to continue
the cycle of violence.

I start by loving me with all of my gifts and imperfections,
and with this new found freedom I can love like a father
who is not bounded by the past.  

I forgive you.  I love you.

the voices of the past
make their way into my head
and they whisper to me
all the things that i have done
and remind me of who i once was
they remind me of when
i broke your heart
and i cry
because i don't deserve You
but You embrace me
and tell me that
You don't care about
who i was or what i did
You just care about
my heart
and your voice, your light
drowns out
the darkness of the voices
of the past

I remember every metaphor I used for you.
It’s beautiful how quickly I ran out.
It was just so difficult to describe
a forest at the bottom of an ocean on fire.
You were soft,
I was quiet.
I remember every park bench,
every broken sidewalk,
every open sky.
It was so whole.
I remember breathing,
and the lovely amount of effort it required.
I hope you do too.
They say writers remember the important things;
I say they are liars.
I remember you wore a purple flannel
the first time I saw you,
even though it isn’t your favorite colour.
I remember that you take your coffee black,
and your tea with plenty of honey.
I remember the way your eyes changed colour
based on the weather,
and the way you looked at the sky,
like it was endless.
You were endless.
I remember everything you taught me.

They say writers remember the important things;
I remember you.