I am not my father.
and I will never say that
I can be so stubborn,
just like him,

at the end of every day.
deep down, 
he knows that
in order to have strength 
he needs to hide his emotions. 
never will he feel that
warmth and compassion are just as important.

he’s taught me 
honesty is key but
lying, it’s okay. 
I see him
in everything, and he knows that
he is the best. 

never has he thought that
it’s okay to cry,
so he always tells me
in order to keep going no matter what. 
money, success, stability 
are important, not
humour, wisdom, empathy, happiness,
something he preaches frequently. 

is he sad, 
never again 
can he find a moment of peace 
with just me.

but finally it seems
I grow apart from him. 
he remains scared for the day
I am able to think for myself. 
he’s proud that
I listened to him,
even though I never
believe myself when I say I am my father. 

* A poem to be read backwards and forwards. In the style of EE Cummings