Every word I speak to him drops before it reaches his ears
It falls heavy onto the floor smashing into a million pieces
as if the words were as fragile as glass. When they splinter and fall
I hear the words scream over and over in my head but he does not even
hear the echo of my words when they are destroyed, that is for me alone.
The words are heavy because they are pressed down by society.
That is what oppression is right? The pressing down of ideas and words
So that they might shatter onto the floor when the audience doesn't
Handle them with care. He doesn't listen, he doesn't handle with care.
He can not hear me for when I speak all he hears is his daughter.
And she does not exist anymore, if she ever existed at all.
I try to yell to him that I am still his child, still of his blood, that I still need his love
But the words break upon the floor. Because they are from his son
A son he doesn't accept exists. And so his son remains unheard.