I accept it already,
but man, it still makes me sad.
I let it sink in heavy
when I think about my dad.
I probably need a new purpose,
I need to write a new plot.
Throw all your words out—they’re *****
Still think I hate you a lot.
See, this time I been spending
trapped in my head since I was 10.
Came home, you were swinging
from that noose 'round your neck.
Had to pull you down quickly—
"Dad, I saved you, you’re here."
Then Mom just yelled across the house:
“Hide the pills, hide the shears.”
So I did—running kid.
I'm fast, but a fatty.
Four-foot me just tryna
save my daddy.
Did what I was told,
always thought I was a good kid.
Then you jumped in the pool and started sinking—you did.
So I jumped in, and we pulled you out too.
Got you a towel
and said, “This wasn’t you.”
Told you, you were a good dad—
and please, man, I meant it.
But slowly through the ages,
I learned to resent it... and learned to replay it.
Why the **** you wanna die so bad? What the **** do you mean?
How the **** you gonna come home and just stare at a screen?
How the **** you gonna cheat on Mom and then blame her?
How the **** you gonna drug test me, same time abuse percs?
How the **** you wanna play like that—a sad, broken man—
when all the **** we ever wanted was your hand as our friend?
How the **** you never bring it up? It’s hard to pretend
that I didn’t come home a broken child, turned to a broken man.
The world was tough, Dad—didn't need you to be tougher.
I already spent my days angry—Dad, I was taught to suffer.
Bottled up, spent a lotta time with the Guidance.
Then I met some good friends who wouldn’t let me sit in silence.
Learned my pain was inside, and my problem external.
I'll never forget the look when you turned from your journal—
We were fighting and yelling, at the world and at me—
Then you asked what my problem was, and I said truthfully:
“Dad, I wanna die. I can’t stand my life, I’m a mess.
I’m a victim of existence, I’m a threat to my end.
I’m lonely, I’m alone, I’m sad, I’m stressed—
I’m broken, and can’t feel many more days depressed.
I want off the ride, Dad. I don’t know about you,
but I think I wanna **** myself. What do I do?”
And in that moment, I became a man—wish I was kidding.
'Cause you brushed it off, told me that you wished I would end it.
Silence like a gunshot, blew open my eardrums.
Heart never felt the same—am I still human?
Did my dad love me? That’s what they say now...
But you’ve been dead so long, I can't even say how,
or when the last time was you told me you loved me.
That **** sits with me—even at thirty-something.
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 1:10 PM UTC
I accept it already,
but man, it still makes me sad.
I let it sink in heavy
when I think about my dad.
I probably need a new purpose,
I need to write a new plot.
Throw all your words out—they’re *****
Still think I hate you a lot.
See, this time I been spending
trapped in my head since I was 10.
Came home, you were swinging
from that noose 'round your neck.
Had to pull you down quickly—
"Dad, I saved you, you’re here."
Then Mom just yelled across the house:
“Hide the pills, hide the shears.”
So I did—running kid.
I'm fast, but a fatty.
Four-foot me just tryna
save my daddy.
Did what I was told,
always thought I was a good kid.
Then you jumped in the pool and started sinking—you did.
So I jumped in, and we pulled you out too.
Got you a towel
and said, “This wasn’t you.”
Told you, you were a good dad—
and please, man, I meant it.
But slowly through the ages,
I learned to resent it... and learned to replay it.
Why the **** you wanna die so bad? What the **** do you mean?
How the **** you gonna come home and just stare at a screen?
How the **** you gonna cheat on Mom and then blame her?
How the **** you gonna drug test me, same time abuse percs?
How the **** you wanna play like that—a sad, broken man—
when all the **** we ever wanted was your hand as our friend?
How the **** you never bring it up? It’s hard to pretend
that I didn’t come home a broken child, turned to a broken man.
The world was tough, Dad—didn't need you to be tougher.
I already spent my days angry—Dad, I was taught to suffer.
Bottled up, spent a lotta time with the Guidance.
Then I met some good friends who wouldn’t let me sit in silence.
Learned my pain was inside, and my problem external.
I'll never forget the look when you turned from your journal—
We were fighting and yelling, at the world and at me—
Then you asked what my problem was, and I said truthfully:
“Dad, I wanna die. I can’t stand my life, I’m a mess.
I’m a victim of existence, I’m a threat to my end.
I’m lonely, I’m alone, I’m sad, I’m stressed—
I’m broken, and can’t feel many more days depressed.
I want off the ride, Dad. I don’t know about you,
but I think I wanna **** myself. What do I do?”
And in that moment, I became a man—wish I was kidding.
'Cause you brushed it off, told me that you wished I would end it.
Silence like a gunshot, blew open my eardrums.
Heart never felt the same—am I still human?
Did my dad love me? That’s what they say now...
But you’ve been dead so long, I can't even say how,
or when the last time was you told me you loved me.
That **** sits with me—even at thirty-something.
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