I was hell bent on being sad Making desperate decisions To push away the past Thought I lost all that I had It all started with my dad I used to think my rebellious ways drove him to drink Until I learned about his eleventh chromosome It was then I knew why the sight of alcohol made his mouth foam He’d raise his voice Then his fist without a conscious choice The next morning he’d be sorry Kiss my bruises if he could But I’d already be gone We all knew I would I’d be gone before he woke With ****** friends looking for anything to smoke Now I only smoke the ashes of my pride and the fresh potpourri of my regret There’s a few things like this I’ll never forget Here’s to my mother She could never understand Why I changed so drastically by the unwanted touch of a man It tore us apart the way she just couldn’t see How that man could ever take so much from me My little sister would worry when I didn’t come home She’d be scared each time was real That each time I’d finally leave her alone But what she doesn’t know is why I’d always return I came home to see my baby sister Because a baby is how my eyes will always see her My sister put a smile on even when home was hell’s prison Somehow she always felt she had to hide what’s arisen She was always good that way Through every heartache she’s been the strongest of four She’s the reason why I don’t run anymore Now and then I reminisce back to when she was three It took so long for ignorance to pass Took me a while to see How I need her curious eyes to forever look up to me Some days I lose my calm thinking whether or not she always will As long as she does, I’ve not lost it all In my baby sister’s eyes, I’ve got everything still
This poem was never meant to make my father look like a ****** dad, he was a great dad. We were a family that struggled through a lot, but we struggled with love and we made it through. We miss you a lot, and I hope you know I never meant to write about your flaws. Looking back now, I guess you could assume that I did but just know that the bad stories are the ones that make the paper.