My Father

My father was a monster of a man.

Self proclaimed king -

built his throne on his children's sorrows,

and there were many.

It seems like, we were always crying back then -

Always wishing that our father had left, 

like all of our friends fathers did -

then maybe we wouldn's have all these scars.

All these welts, and bruises -

My father was a big, flared nostrils kind of man.

Mom told us to pray for him.

She said that, "by God people can change" -

by five I sopped beliving that people could change,

by ten I stopped believing in God all together -

My father,

He taught me everything I know,

from how to ride a bike,

to how to keep myself warm with my own anger - 

He taught me anger, and let me figure out love, on my own.

A seed, planted in darkness that never grew quite right -

now im a wilted flower, 

with social anxiety, and notebooks,

filled with conversations we've never had -

I blame my dad.

Cause for the last 10 years, my father has beat the poet out of me.

So when my

monster of a man lay broken and docile in his lonely king sized bed,

tears streaming down his face -

in eighteen years I'd never seen him cry before

And I couldn't feel bad for him. 

But, I tried to show sympathy -

So I stood in the doorway with my arms crossed -

the hands -

he used to hit me with - 

Numb -

his last words to the conversation were,

"Sash, you know I love you right".

But I didn't -

and by then we'd grown too far apart for me to care about his opinion

I felt nothing of his pride - His ego died.

Who told you that you could apologize to me?

I still had stories to write about

there was the part were proved you wrong,

where I finally cussed you out and didn't let you feel my forgiveness -

you weren't supposed to change yet.

Who am I supposed to be without my enemy?

You always wanted to talk, now say something. Teach me,

how to mourn this somewhat absence of a father with all this anger

You've - been in and out of this for years

but I've been festering in this for what feels to be longer -

The daddy issues,

that have took root and blossomed since the age of five 

and have chisled me into looking in this concrete way when it comes to guys

this is what you did to me.

I have a monster for a father.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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