people tell me i have your eyes like its something i should be grateful for.
but when i look into your eyes i only see empty beer bottles,
body hunched over in prayer for forgiveness from all the wrong people.
your eyes are unapologetic but you are always saying sorry.

when i look into your eyes i only see bruised knuckles,
fingers not quite as broken as our family,
a house that was never quite a home.
your eyes are hungry and they devour me whenever they get the chance.

people tell me i have your eyes like its something i should be grateful for.
whose eyes do you see when you look into mine, dad?
who are you blaming when you tell me its my fault?
if i'm the mirror image of you, dad, you must be blaming yourself.