My beloved father stands with his back turned

He has anger in his eyes,

frustration on his lips,

while suspicion coils around his hardening heart.

He always looks over his shoulder,

constantly tripping over his own two feet,

unaware of his surroundings.

He builds up walls,

brick by brick

surrounding himself,

cutting himself off from all of us.

He says it's for protection;

he says he knows what's best,

but I'm sitting outside of his wall,

while the cold crawls over my toes.