My Child
You're in a boat
And I am your oar
You'll make it farther in life
When you involve me in every aspect
If you choose not
You'll drift wherever the waters take you
Soon to be lost
Without even knowing

He looks in the mirror, distraught. Is he...getting old?

Because it felt like only yesterday he was chasing the woman of his dreams and fawning over his little girl.

He hasn't felt like himself in a long time, the mental illness drowning his thoughts of truth and reality, blinding his minds eye.

Some days he doesn't surface from the rolls of waves pulling him under, some days he flies higher than any kite in the sky because this is his reality.

He is bipolar. He is desperate. He is alone and the fear of growing older slowly gnaws at his insides.

He misses the way things used to be, the world is but a confusing shell of what it once was...much like himself.

He clings to memories of a happier past, a brighter time when the future didn't look so bleak and the kiss of death didn't seem to be pulling him in closer with every breath he takes.

He longs for love like most rugged men do, and yet he finds only a small portion of the comfort he once had in her arms.

He longs for a life filled with success, where he doesn't have to worry anymore, where he can finally fill that hole that has been empty since the dawn of his existence.

Some days he longs for the waves to pull him under, to fall asleep one last time and leave nothing behind except a life lived of regret and a world in which he no longer fits in.

And yet when he wakes up each morning, a look of disappointment crosses his face as he realizes another day trudges on.

This is the story of my father and the man he grew to be, or maybe the man he always was. His story is not yet completed, his chapter not yet closed and like it or not,

I am his sequel.

Deceivingly simple, we sit down
On our ****** plastic step stools
After school in the kitchen.
You ask me how my day was. I say
Fine thanks, learned about quadratics.
I ask you where you went cycling. You say
Oh, you know, the usual. Round out
That way, and back. The usual.
We sit in silence for amount as I cut a slice of apple and hold it out to you across the room.
You take it, and we sit on our ****** plastic step stools
In the kitchen after school,
Sharing silence and an apple.
And I almost love the crisp, cool crunch
As much as I love you.

my comfy mattress,
showed your hard work;
you broke your comfort
to give me the best.

You love me,
But, I owe this life to you.
  


Dad...

My dad once built a shed out of old doors

Each odd colours he'd collect along his travels, when one grew tired and porous another would take its place

Even the floor was doors

I dreamt of opening them to secret places and posted letters through the slots hoping it would reach them

But they never opened, and all that remained was my father grey and aged in his shed made of doors.

I miss my father
he isn't dead
only pretends to be
he dims the light
behind the curtains
to make it seem
as though no one is home
as though no one
is dusting the family photos
sweeping cobwebs
off the best of times
we don't talk
about the worst of times
then again
we don't talk much at all
still, he was a good teacher
I am a good student
I have learned my lesson
closed my curtains
dimmed my lights
locked my door
©KNL

Father chases me,

we run around the table --


three times, always three.

I am pulling weeds from the garden and I want to scream "there is nothing wrong with you there is nothing wrong with you there is nothing wrong you"
I am replacing you with something beautiful and hard to maintain because I value appearances more than growth
There is nothing wrong with dandelions i swear, please do not develop a complex, I just cannot love you unless someone else does
My father spent years weeding me and trust me it gets easier
it hurts less if you learn to hate yourself the same way
There is nothing wrong with you I just have to do this he is coming over later and he might remember he doesn't love me if he sees you here
There is nothing wrong with you but I will **** you still
Like my father
Commended for everything I grow in the wake of what I ****
There is nothing wrong with you I scream but I will throw you away and you will wonder what is wrong with you anyway
He told me I have room to grow before hugging me goodbye
There is nothing wrong with you he said
I just don't want you here

I’m sorry I couldn’t forget,
but you’re my first memory

I’m sorry you left,
it’s brutal how you
were able to forget
as I kept remembering,
bleeding,
and remembering still

I beg of you to forget me,
so I can forget me too

Let me keep my life,
and you keep yours