February 26, 2011
By , Farmington, UT
His eyes were calm and sable,
Though his fingers were crossed underneath the table
He always dressed to impress
A black suit to match my mother’s red dress
While dining and hosting, he was calm and collected
But, when we were alone, he was less than perfected
His fist would connect with my face with a smack
While he glared down at me, his eyes blacker than black
Always he laughed at my pain
As if this was all a cruel game
At night he would come home drunk and crazed
Then endlessly beat me in an angry daze
I thought fathers were supposed to love
Supposed to kiss you at night, light as a dove
My father is just wrong
Now, I will leave, hoping not to see him along

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