I don't acknowledge you as my father. "Dad" has become a meaningless title, given to a hollow shell of a man. I remember the days you looked at me. Each second better than the last. I was the stone temple to a monk. I remember the last time you looked near me. Not wanting to know that I am part of your creation. Not wanting to see my mom. Not wanting to acknowledge a mistake.

(Insert other parts of the group here).

The days I counted, the days I felt, like nothing more than a mistake. I can count on my arm tally marks cut into my skin, I can hear your hollow words, see that face in my reflection. If I knew how this life would turn out maybe I could've cut the rope, made a difference, let love in, Be. Happy. Maybe if I forget about you long ago I could have become who I should have been. And not what you turned me into.