I don't know if I deserve to be sad that you died
It feels like I didn't earn it
Like if I'm sad I'm pretending for attention
I don't know if we were close enough
I don't think I texted you back enough
or respected you enough

After so many years of resentment I don't know if I get to love you
It doesn't feel like my loss.
It feels like my siblings lost their dad
And my mom lost her husband
And I'm so sad for my family
but it doesn't feel like my father died.

Everyone tells me that you were a good person
And I believe them
But I don't think I thought so when you were still here
And now we share the same sins
It's the first thing we've had in common

When I was writing your eulogy it felt like I was writing a paper
It was like I was writing it for someone else
Someone who knew their dad
Someone who liked their dad
Someone who was liked by their dad.

The only thing we understood about each other was the bad parts
Because we recognized them.
And neither of us liked either of us.
If you were such a bad person I think I am too
The passive aggressiveness
The drinking to be likeable
The sneakiness
The lust
The pride
My personality is like mom's but my vices are from you.

I don't think we were so distant because we didn't understand each other
I think we disliked each other because we understood each other perfectly.

That's what your name in my phone is.
Nah.
As in don't respond if you ever text me again.

I thought you were just a hookup.
A one night (two night) stand.
I thought I'd forget you quickly.
But here I am.

I decided the reason I couldn't stop thinking about you was because you were the last guy I did anything with.
I did anything with Peter two weeks ago.
I thought of you.

You were a complete *******.
You pressured me to have ***.
You told people the exact details.
Apparently you had a girlfriend.

But I can only ever remember the sweet parts.

I broke it off with you.
But I'm the one still not over this.
And it's not fair
And I hate it
And I saw you yesterday.
And now I can't get you out of my head.

I changed your name in my phone so I would never text you back.
I didn't need to.

In Africa they mutilate girls' genitals so that they can't enjoy ***.
Sometimes they just sew it shut.
They call it a ritual.
A ceremony.

In Gilead they give the women ugly dresses and make the wife stay in the room so it's not fun for either one.
They call a necessity.
A ceremony.

In Laguna Pueblo they relive their conquests. Remembering not the pleasure, but the power.
They tell it like it's a legend.
A ceremony.

At USAFA we read the stories. We feel bad. We do nothing.
There's nothing we can do.
Each one is just a story.
But it's a ceremony too.

I used to think you had to be sad to write good poetry.

It always seemed to be true for me.
But it wasn't a problem,
I had plenty of material.

I mean, the best movies are the ones that make you cry right?
It's only the really good books that you throw across the room.

But yesterday I felt the need to write a poem.

So I tried to think of all my hardships.
And
I couldn't really think of any.
I realized that the most poignant moments in my life right now
Are happy ones

And maybe contentment doesn't make readers turn the pages.
Maybe my life isn't as interesting as it used to be.
But I think it's my new favorite story.