My phone buzzes again.
Pinging six times per second is what it seems.
The vibrations on the wooden table were violent
like a drummer with an excessive amount of anger.
Why is ignoring this so emotionally exhausting?

Why is he so impatient?

Fathers–they’re there for you
At least, they’re supposed to be.
Why can’t he understand this is his fault?
He wasn’t there; he should’ve been,
Why does he care now?

The messages seem to turn into screaming words on a screen,

“I’m infuriated that you won't answer me,
Quit acting like I’m the bad guy.”

The “bad guy”?
That's all he sees himself as?

No one said you were,
We just said you weren’t there.
How can you be a bad guy when you weren’t even around?
Even when you were around, it was nothing but trying to gaslight
Young children into hating their mother.

I read the messages,
Over
Over
And over again.

I looked at the block button, my heart was running miles

My thumb slowly creeps toward it,
Before I can even think twice
Buzz
Sneaking up on the button again
Buzz
He continues to spam my phone.

“I’m sick of being treated like this.”
“Are you understanding what I’m trying to say?
Or are you just disregarding this like ‘f**k how your dad feels’?”
He’s done it.
I did it.

My phone finally sits there,
Quiet as a mouse.
It feels as though we’re having a staring contest,
But in reality, I stare at it, lost in thought.
I turn to my mom and stepdad, as they sit there
Undisruptive and supportive of my decision.

Whatever he had tried to do with her failed.
Add it to the list.

Right next to my mother, my dad watches,
The man who earned the title.
–not my father but something better
And that is when I realized,
Blood is not always thicker than water.