#fatherissues
Inside me is a whirlwind of emotions that no one not even you could understand,
it's not that I expect you to.
Stuck within are the moments that remind me how weak I still am even though I am trying my best to be strong.
Your snide remarks don't ever help at all, just verifying these demons in my head.
My hands shake while my entirety submerges into a cold sea of unwanted yet written memories.
So this is what it'd feel like every year,
Well at least now I know.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC
My father randomly calls me all the time,
not by my name, but by an 'ey'
He never liked my name, I suppose,
cause he never seemed to call me by it
Needless to say, I hated it too
My name, it is a nuisance,
misspelled by many,
and thrown around
I am always blamed for the things I haven't done,
for the things I can't change, withstand and control
One word that describes me: Solitude
The people who really know me
also knows how I like to be alone
It's more of a habit than a nature
I stay alone cause I'm used to it
Being an only child is one reason,
being a bullied child is another
And my father didn't like my solitude, indeed
He'd told me, "You'll always be alone forever,
cause you make everyone hate you"
And I thought it true, I am such a fool
I remember, as a child, I've hurt people,
leaving scratches and hitting them
I sliced off a girl's pinky finger once
for calling me ugly in front of the whole class
I never took scissors to school after that day,
understanding that I am my father's daughter,
that I might as well cut their throats open,
for the years of humiliation and darkness
they gave me in return for my loud silence
My mother knew, she'd seen me cry a lot,
but she was as helpless as I was
She didn't pull me out when I was drowning
in the horrible things that happened to me
She didn't hear me when I was burning,
caught on flames that my father started
At ten years old, I dreamed of being a star
but by fifteen, I surrendered, I gave up
All it took was my father's cruel words,
to pierce my heart and shatter me
I stopped looking at my reflection
hoping that one day it'll disappear
I cursed my appetite, ate less
and grew scared of my body
I was called vile names that a father
must never use to call his daughter
I always had bruises on my knees,
from kneeling to god to end my suffering
He answered none of my prayers; I abandoned him
If only these memories would die down
instead of rubbing salt into my wounds
If only my mother was strong,
her rage would've saved me
from all of that damage
If only my father wasn't my father,
he would've been proud of me
and he wouldn't have hurt me
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 2:42 AM UTC
I don't think I have it in me to be a mother,
for the same reasons men supposedly can't cry,
I cannot muster myself to look at what my face would look like,
Post-Partem or sunken by the burn-out of sleepless nights,
Coddling a baby I am yet to hold,
My mind already holds so many fissures;
There's already so many splinters that'll likely stay that way,
dug into the grey matter like wooden fragments underneath the layers of skin,
I fear the day I break apart in front of them,
like my father's done a million times,
I cannot muster to look in the mirror and see him instead,
as the wailing I created,
once my own breath,
drills into this hollow skull,
I cannot even bare to face my brother,
his rumbling coos from a full-grown throat,
His world surrounded in childish fantasies,
Coddling a baby he's always been,
All I've known was noise,
Shouting, Hitting,
The curling sneer of an angry man,
Teaching through fear; a spineless intimidation,
as the wailing I listened to, blaring between the ear-aching music,
shook the car I just barely lingered in,
My mind already holds so many facets,
There's already so many voices that'll likely speak in their tones,
I know the days we've all barked the same,
Snarled at the threat in an infantilized face,
Could I bare it?
Bear the idea of baring my teeth,
towards the child I may one day raise?
If I cannot muster the patience,
The compassion,
The capacity to carry all these burdens the Mother heaves,
If I cannot hold back the tightness in this chest,
If I cannot repress the sneering hiss,
If all I've learned is now instinct,
What kind of mother am I?
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 5:12 PM UTC
Father's sitting on the hospital bed, dazed,
scribbling away on a paper, attending calls.
His swelling legs
appeared like logs of rosewood.
They took him to a room— one with many beds,
patients lying with their feet lit up by the glaring light
with severed toes that didn't ooze blood.
With helpless eyes,
the old lady nearby stared at me
and the only comfort I could afford to give
was hold her up as she left in a wheelchair.
They told my father he was fortunate,
for, they'll only cut open his leg,
fix it and stitch it up, make it invisible.
I wished if it was that easy
to fix someone who feels their existence is tainted.
I remember I was only a little kid
when they took me to a hospital
in the guise of a vacation.
Doctors, paperworks—
It's atrial septal defect, they said.
They knew I was a strong child,
capable of adapting to bad news
yet they lied to me, they lied.
I've learned now, somehow,
that once you are deceived,
you no longer live, but survive.
Van Gogh said that orange is the color of insanity,
but what of the color white— the one that blinds us?
What of the hospital rooms that shrink onto us,
that make us wretch out of nothingness.
What of the shades of delirium,
the hues of loneliness that's inflicted upon a family?
Every hour,
every minute we spend between these white walls,
sleepless, checking the dripping medicines,
I wonder if he thought of the distance
that mom and I keep from him,
of all those times he raised his voice, his hand
and failed as a father, a husband.
Yet, familial love is terrible—
At times when one suffers,
you care for them more than you ever did before
only in hopes of brighter days,
never forgetting how they caused you pain.
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 12:02 PM UTC