I see you with clouded
grey nihilistic eyes
through a thick curtain
of smoke and years
it seems a little sad sometimes
if I think too hard about it
like how I've never called anyone "dad"
I never thought that was tragic
it seems like a heavy dead word
no face and no voice to go along
devoid of meaning
save for a foggy word
stranger

as I'm writing this
I try very hard to stand
in your place on this earth
realizing I don't know you at all
it’s been said my little sister
has your laugh and your smile
but I can't even remember
what you look like
what your voice is like
I never even realized I missed out
on anything at all
I had two mothers and one father
none of them were you

I don't wish I knew you
yet somehow I wish you knew me
as if it would change anything
or make you feel shame
with only my face
fifteen years in my eyes
that my mother carried alone
on her shoulders
as if I weighed nothing

maybe I'd tell you about
all you missed out on
but it'd be the same thing
as going up to any man on the street
telling him he missed out on
seeing me grow up
he'd have no reason to feel guilt
but I think you might …

you'll be gone one day
I will stand on the fresh dirt
a grey tombstone with your name
which is also my name
I wonder if you'll seem
less dead or more dead
than how dead you seem now

you've been gone for years
in fact, you were never there
which is why I don't miss you
in fact, sometimes I think leaving
or rather letting us go
was the only good thing you did
you left the archive in my head
with your name on it
empty
but even in your absence
an echo of what should have been

I do have to admit
the silence downstairs
is both peace and loneliness
I stare into the void
with milky white eyes
as I think about the things
I lost before I had
to let go
of what is already lost
and ungrasp with no fear
to long for no ghost
who might have corrupted
the very essence of my soul
but even in your absence
a stain;
whose name is but an empty shell
a word scribbled and scratched
on a cardboard box
in the back of my head
the mere shadow of a man
who has written this poem
along with me