Confession: I have no idea how this whole challenge thing got started.
Whoever it is, I hope you like my contribution.
For your reference, I'm made of different things than when I first arrived.
Back then I was broken hearted,
writing retribution.
But just when I think I'm getting ready to move into the next chapter of my life,
The man I was before comes in and the recipe is ruined.

Ingredient the first is of course the man I was before.
I'll admit, he wasn't all that bright, and a bit of a know it all and a bore.
but according to every guide who helped him open newer doors,
"He has so much potential!" So let potential simmer for about a minute before you add in Life. But be honest for a second. Life's a cold, disdainful *****.

Ingredient number two was life, but it's far too large and full of emotion,
so grab your knife and cut a smaller portion,
mince, and mix it with a few one night stands.
Sprinkle in some daddy issues.
Add a dollop of fairy dust, and prepare to bring the tissues.
Next comes epilepsy, pill bottles to your eyeballs,
death, and loss, and missing parietals,
cheating, beatings, midnight meetings
with guys who will sell you memory loss for a few hundred bucks.
Caution: This recipe calls for zero *****.
Add them in at the risk of ruining the mix.
Let it simmer and boil with rage,
and eventually your mixture will break it's cage;
He'll run away, start over fresh somewhere, and lie about his life to all who ask,
then slowly, he'll open up to strangers over the internet, and bask
in the complements his poetry gets him.
Then he'll get a job like a real person,
and his cold dead heart will begin to tick,
like clockwork, which he'll be obsessed with,
and he'll start clocking people for money instead of kicks,
and be paid for it.
and get laid for it.
(because come on, why else do people become athletes? To get ripped.)
His life will, briefly, be a fairy tale,
and he'll believe for a moment that his old life has called it quits.
This is a crucial moment, don't **** up the recipe like I did
Because then...
if his old life finds him.
his runaway streak is over.
See, if it doesn't cook all the way through, food poisoning is in order,
and he is poisoned once again but that cruel *****, Life,
and his life becomes again a game of "Pick-up-sticks"
as his old life comes crashing back, and then, stage left, ENTER *****!
She finds him.
and before you know it too much Life was added to the mix,
he says "**** it" once again,
opens up for just a moment more,
***** up his rhymes, and moves out of his apartment,
packs his bags, says his goodbyes, and pays his rent,
then leaves to close more potential doors, lost and disillusioned.
Too much life came back too soon, before he was ready to be served.
Too much life was added in, and while you totally can say h'orderves
without saying "*****", life's a *****, so you add too much more,
and the recipe is ruined.

Moving from apartment to apartment,
looking for a place to call home after the divorce.
Kept away from our own father by a relentless mother.
No visits. No phone calls.
He loved my sister and I with all his heart
and when months passed by and he still hadn't seen or heard from his girls, he brought Hell to mom's door step.
Pounding and yelling,
demanding to just see his daughters,
mom picked up the phone and called the law to remove him.
The only way dad could tell us he loved us
was through a cardboard sign he put up on the side of the road
so when we would ride the bus to school in the morning,
we would see it.
The moment I saw the sign, I knew it was from him.
His messy, all caps script wrote,

I LOVE YOU GIRLS.
- DAD

And I remember pressing my face to the bus window
to get a good look at it.
And I remember how my chest swelled with happiness.
Dad had to let us know he loved us.
And if that was through a makeshift sign on the side of the road,
so be it.