when it's convenient

it has been 8 years

since the union

since i've called you dad

so far, every year remains the same

i'll pass you a handdrawn card on father's day, a warm smile on my face

i'll write the words i love you over and over again for years

'you are the best,

thank you for staying,

thank you for not leaving

thank you for taking care of us'

but the next day,

when the teacher asks us to write down a deep, sentimental reflection on our parents and our love for them

without hesitation,

i'll write about my mother

and then pass it up without a second thought

within the far depths of many sleepless nights,

i'll still cry,

whispering

i don't have a father

then i'll ask myself

how cruel i must be

how when its convenient,

you aren't a father, not to me.

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