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Supposedly, You're Just A Percentage Rate.

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Father figures
Are supposed to be
Strong and there
At all times
For the rest of time
To calm the overprotective mother
Help you sneak out when she’s being a prude
Never tell
A father-daughter secret.

But instead I’m stuck with
The weak one
The one who left and doesn’t plan on a return
Instead of balancing out
Teeters over the edge
Into the hole that all father figures
Fall into
A hole where a family means nothing
And daughters are a thing of the past.





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