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Twelve Ways of Looking at My Dad
  ?
  At first, he loved me
  but something in my dad
  must have changed,
  you see.
  ?
  He used to be
  someone I could forgive,
  someone I could trust,
  my dad was once
  even made of stardust.
  ?
  He was my source
  of strength,
  my dad was my inspiration, of course.
  ?
  Once loyal,
  my dad was devoted.
  He was honest, caring,
  he taught me how to be daring.
  ?
  Thursday, January sixth,
  the dismal day,
  my vision
  of my dad
  first collapsed,
  because of just one decision.
  ?
  Lack of patience,
  he slowly pulled away.
  Little did I know,
  my dad wouldn’t be here to stay.
  ?
  His heart diminished,
  his morals lost,
  my dad chose dominance,
  power at all costs.
  ?
  He fled without warning.
  March first,
  my dad left,
  our hearts swarming.
  ?
  He used to keep in touch,
  with impersonated affection,
  my dad was deceitful,
  hiding his ash grey demeanor too much.
  ?
  Brainwashed,
  he convinced himself,
  it’s my fault.
  My dad still says
  he loves me,
  a  lie, in and of itself.
  ?
  He tells me
  to live scared.
  My dad
  claims I burned the wrong bridges,
  my baby sister, a comrade.
  ?
  At times, I miss him.
  I yearn to hear his voice,
  and despite the late night cries,
  I still crave
  my dad,
  and his piercing blue eyes.

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Inspired by Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"