I’ve kept so many words inside my breath
that bang against the solid tunnel in my throat
until my gag reflex lurches,
and my face grows yellow,
but only I can hear their clashing.

I swear I felt nothing
the moment I heard you breathed your last.
My heart only filled with dread
at the inconvenience you’d become to me,
but I sewed my lips shut in respect of the father
who’s spent a lifetime swinging fists
at my shield in an effort to build himself higher.
I used to hide under my pillow
with wells in my eyes
I couldn’t keep from overflowing
onto the sleep stained meadow of sheets beneath.
As I grew older
I blamed you.

While you gaze down
I’m sure you swell in your chest for every single grandchild
until you see me
and the needle in my hand,
ready to ***** the balloon between your lungs.
The tears I cried at your wake
will never be coupled with me or you
but only for the ones you left behind,
for they were blinded by the love you spread
to the hopeless negativity you harbored.

He is just like you.
God save me if the same blood
ever forms a river in me.
Drown my lungs until I gasp
for the air my mother breathes,
and let the salt of her eyes
drip into my hair until it annoys me enough
to let go.

I swing back now
if not only for the way
he’s always cared more for you
than the rest of us.
We are merely the dirt
left on the bottom of his boots.
Hell,
who am I kidding?
I swing back for everything else too.

I don’t miss you,
but I wish I did.

I guess I’m not done blaming you yet.
Rest in peace
until I can.