I remember when I was younger, we would always listen to our “father-daughter song.”
You painted this beautiful picture of a cliche father-daughter relationship.
You never made that picture come to life, but I always dreamt you had.
All of the broken promises, the late nights I stayed up waiting for you to come home.
All of the tears that fell from my eyes every time you went to jail, every time you said that this would be the last time we had to live with Auntie.
The childhood I never really had because you were absent in my life, and when you decided it would be convenient for you to be a father to your kids, i was already so far gone.
Isn’t funny that no matter how much you turn your back on me, avoid me, and just leave me, I’m still doing my best to be the “perfect” daughter, hoping you would love me just a little bit more?
Now every time our song comes on, i have to skip it because if I don’t, the image in my head is little me waiting on the steps for someone to walk through the door, and never did.
The smell that nauseates my stomach when the song comes on,
the stench of beer, makes me want to vomit, because the last time we were together and listened to it you were drinking.
You never could look me in the eyes sober
It is like you knew what you were doing to me.
You were burning my forest, killing my trees, the only way for me to breathe, filling my lungs with ashes, like the ones that fell from your disgusting cigarettes.
Now I sit here, thinking, should i just give up?
Should i just leave like you did?
That painting was on those trees, the ones you burnt down, the ones you guzzled down to feel whatever it is you felt while drowning your pain.
I guess you just didn’t realize that while you were drowning your pain, you were causing mine.