My father was always told
a loveless man should always ******* with his left hand
because it supposedly felt
as if someone else was doing it
It all began with a bottle and a bag of marijuana
which quickly transitioned
into five bottles and various drugs
which quickly transitioned
into an addiction
that lasted for years
that continuously causes
sadness and anger
denial and depression
and the worst of all
mistakes
that cannot be undone
with a hundred “I love you's”
and “I’m proud of you's”
which he continuously states
because he reads me like a novel
and burns the pages one by one
until there is nothing left
but ash
and
a coffin filled with regret
Once filled with disappointment,
he now admits
how very wrong he was
which I've wanted my whole life
but now
I’m not even happy
or angry
or upset
I am nothing.
And
I’m beginning to wonder
if when he pushed me away
for the last time
before his final farewell
if he used his left hand
in order for him to feel
as if someone else was doing it.
I've been coughing up
the various post-it notes
that are meaningless
with his new addresses
for years.
It's been ten years
since my father first disappeared
when a newborn arrived in the household
Nine years
since he began secretly growing marijuana in our garage
in order to make him feel better
and avoid his responsibilities
like the **** plague
and spent
the majority of his paycheck
on every drug
under the sun
Eight years
since his mother died
and the drugs and anger
really began
Seven years
since he passed out on the front lawn
and nearly died from intoxication
body full of alcohol and multiple drugs
body thrown against a tree
ambulance and police sirens blaring
in the distance
as I stood scared
in the house
with a crying brother
and an upset mother
Six years
since the final fight
between him and my mother
he held a knife
firmly in his palm
and he vanished
for weeks
for months
and he threatened suicide
for the first time
out of many
Five years
since my mother stopped accidentally
setting his place
at the dinner table
and the final divorce papers came
and we started a new life
but he
just got worse
Four years
since we lived in and out of hotels
with prostitutes
and drug-addicts
as neighbors
Three years
since he found himself an equal
who is just
as ****** up
as he is
Two years
since he showed up drunk
to a birthday party
and full of rage
he took as many drugs as he could
to ease the embarrassment
One year
since I thought I were to see him
for the last time
because
I was sick and tired
of being sick and tired
Six months
since everything happened
and I finally spoke my mind
and watched him
make an even bigger mess
out of his “sad” life
that he created
himself
Two months
since I last received a letter
because
he was too embarrassed
that a disappointing daughter like me
did not visit him
and accept his mistakes
because
he is now
my favorite little bundle
of disappointment
One month
since I decided
that this poem
was the parting gift
I am to send him
because
he is more
like
an abandoned house
whose windows are broken
with strange noises echoing off the walls
than a father
I guess
you can just call me
daddy's favorite
little loss
of contact
with actuality
He is now just a galloping apology
trapped in the throat
of ten years ago
and
I hope he kept the receipt
on all those excuses he bought
because
they stopped working
when his heart did
And maybe one day
we'll reunite
once he decides
to make amends
and put his life back together
with glue
instead of
alcohol
and
drugs

At least
he taught me
how to make an exit
out of one's life
and
to be careful
not to choke
on all the lies
that he had told
over the years