My dad is an alcoholic.
I say is  even though he has not touched alcohol for a long time, because when you are an alcoholic, you are an alcoholic for life. There is always something in the corner of your mind itching for a drink. I know this, because I can feel that this is the truth for my father. But we never talk about it.

My dad is an alcoholic.
When I was young I used to be woken up from the sounds of music playing loudly downstairs because my dad liked to 'celebrate every evening'. I had to beg my dad to go to bed, if my mom was not there, and I had to pull off his shoes and wrap the blanket around him when he was finally in it. When I was young, my dad drove me everywhere whilst intoxicated. When I was young, my father had an accident because he was drunk driving. I saw my mother's social life slowly deteriorate because of his drinking problem. He used to hit me quite a lot when I did something wrong.
Now that I'm older, that is all over. My brother does not know any better than the way it is now.

But my dad is still an alcoholic.
Since he has stopped drinking, he has lost all sorts of appetite.  He even stopped wanting to celebrate things. He has stopped wanting to celebrate his birthday, new year, easter, even christmas. He hates christmas. I have to fight him to celebrate my birthday.

My dad has stopped being happy since he has stopped drinking.
Or maybe he stopped being happy long before that. I dont know. I just know there is an intrinsic connection between all of the things above but I dont see it because I am not him. And it hurts not to be him but to be on the sidelines and not be able to help. Because he does not let people on the sidelines in. He does not explain and he does not show, he merely is.

My dad is an alcoholic.
And I am here to tell you that that can still hurt long after the drinking has stopped.

Curve your spine
Curl your finger at me
Smile that devious smile
Seek out my eyes

It may be foolish
Foolish to worry about it
But then let me be a fool

For there is no hate
                         in Love

Know that I recognized you
From the beard and coat
To the jacket and smile
You were recognized.

First we met as I hurried
Hurried to catch that bottle
probably cursing as I went
Only to look up into your eyes.

Fair enough, it wasn’t romantic
We didn’t exchange numbers
Nor did we talk or call-
We didn’t really do anything at all

So until yesterday I put you
Out of my glorious mind-
Yet today you are all that I can find.

My mum teased me but surely you saw
The redness of my cheeks, not from the cold at all
Perhaps you noticed I watched you smile
Perhaps you noticed finding words took me a while

Most of all, though, you should have taken note,
That on you, my heart is
(as Shakespeare said)
                   pleased to dote.

Dear Dad,
This might be selfish and stupid
This might go out with the trash
But there is so many things unsaid
So many things not discussed.

I love you, you know I do.
But sometimes we collide like meteorites
We come from different angles
And it sometimes hurts to hit you
That does not make you less of a dad than any other.

I love you, you know I do.
You were an alcoholic, I do not care.
You fight it every day, I care.
You never told us why or how or who, I care.

Nonetheless, dad, you came back to us.
This is how I know you love me.
This is why I love you more after, but I also did during.
I never stopped; you are my dad. The best dad ever.

You are strong. Maybe you cannot be there to save me all the time, but you saved you and that is all the proof I need. You are the strongest dad in the universe and you can fix anything from broken dreams to a flat tire. I would trust you with my life over and over.

I hate that you never talk about your youth, it makes your parents seem so extra dead. I hate that your dad died early because I want you around for a lifetime or more, bickering with mum and slapping her knee in the car. I’d just prefer it if nobody died but we cannot change that.

I love you, dad, and I miss seeing you and your weird interaction with us all every day because it suits you so very well. I’ve missed it all ever since I’ve moved out.

Love,
Your daughter.

If I had to compare you to anything at all,
I would say you are like Oxygen.
They say it mainly keeps us all lively,
But it also poisons us all at a slow rate.
So if I had to pick a thing for you to be,
I imagine you are my own O eight.

Here’s how my mind fathoms you in its roll,
Here’s how I think you take your toll.
I need you and You need me,
I use you to hear, understand, see.
When you are near I concur to happiness,
When too close I edge towards madness,
More often than not it comes to the latter,
But in short, to me, you matter.

Your side effects are less plausible though,
A presence like yours makes me feel low:
Your features give my being a name,
Your smarts give people like me a fame.
When you are near I lose sight of me,
Start to think deprecating thoughts ultimately.

The usual questions come first to me:
Who would want someone like me, surely?
What if the geek in me scares him next?
What if he hates books or even texts?
The next questions come later when you have left
When my conscience returns and my heart is bereft:
Why does an idiot like me even try to imagine it,
Why do I let this love consume me bit by bit?

So you see, like oxygen I need you in any possible way,
Like O eight, I am captivated by you every second of the day,
‘Tis a shame, however, that you come with inner despair,

                              You are toxic and don’t even care.

Alike the wingèd I followed the wise
but
you drew me like a moth to your flame.
Your laughter was enchanting, I surmise
The twinkle of your eyes the same.

You possess a rare internal spark
Seducing me into either the light or the dark.
It's heat both soothes me and makes me light
And the dazzling rejects all shadows that fright.
At times I am burned by your heat
Other times my wax is solidified, head to feet.

Hanging with beating wings is my decision
Curiously waiting for our impending collision.

But whether we end paralysed or entwined,
A better Icarus you'll never find.

So it is, dearest, that we meet again,
if but in poem written by my own pen.

Lately your actions have had great effect,
the influence of touches was rather direct.
'Tis but a wrong resort my mind seems to take,
your love is not sound and your touches are fake.

On this cold summer night, though, I see the light,
your demeanor is friendly, your touches just right!
'T may be this body that yearns for a touch,
To be honest I cant help I made it as such.
Thus is the source of this feeling unveiled,
'tis merely lust to which this body does yield.
Brain and grey matter have now understood,
'Tis but a case of proverbial female wood.

Sorry for causing this grave situation,
surely there should be other ways for my elation.