let's explore the stem of all these problems and we will find that I should've taken it as a sign when everybody sent me flowers at my 3rd grade dance recital.
everybody but my very own dad.
he planted the seed that developed into, well, me. but he never stopped by to check in on my growth and never once did he remark on the beautiful person I've grown to be. there must've been a drought or something because never once did he send a drop of water my way, not that it matters.
never once did you care to show your face at my school plays, or award ceremonies...or parent conferences.
bedtime phone calls felt more like business meeting conference calls, where i did deals with a voice over the phone that I rarely saw, you tried to buy my love but the economy must've been bad because your money has no worth to me.
chasing paper was the only exercise you've ever done. you ran away from the life you created when it all became too much, id like to think I get my ability to run from you, dad.
come to think of it, you should've been an Olympic athlete, because I've never seen somebody run faster than you did when faced when parental priorities, wow. there's a gold medal waiting for you at the finish line and wait for it! I'm going to be the one to place it around your neck.
I think you owe me an apology, not that it matters anyways.
it would've been nice to have you when I needed you but, nothing's ever easy. I filled the gap of your absence with boys that reminded me of you, boys who ran when faced with commitment. boys who use their hands to destroy instead of create. girls love boys who remind them of their father.
And, don't even get me started on Father's Day. what a bullshit holiday, am I right? you threw away my cards and somehow, the ceramic mugs always ended up shattered...I guess that makes two things you've broken, doesn't it?
empty promises so big they make the Grand Canyon seem like a sidewalk crack, but you wouldn't know anything about that would you?
that's right, I forgot you don't take responsibility for the chasms that you create and abandon, you're like an artist who finishes his work and always neglects to leave the watermark scribble in the bottom right corner...I'm glad nobody sees you in me.
I got the lucky end, I don't look like you at all and thankfully, I don't act like you in the slightest. I mean, it doesn't take much to be a decent human being but, this is all news to you. I know.
I am done with second chances because by now, the burned bridges are nothing more than charred remainders of the singed photographs of my childhood. I think of you, sometimes. you pass my mind several times a day, but only when I'm smoking menthols and I get to watch the warm little flame transform into cold, gray ash. I think of you here, because you watched the same thing happen to me. You watched the tiny, glowing flame that you created burn out, and you watched as I became the cold, gray ash; fragile and dirty, a reminder that the light at the end of the tunnel is likely to burn out too. Where is there to run when the light burns out, when you are faced with the darkness and destruction that you have created?
Flowers don't bloom in dark rooms. Flowers need light and warmth. I guess that's why I'm attracted to the flame of the lighter everytime I feel the need to burn one down. Here, I find the light that I need, the one you never could seem to offer.
Maybe, dad, the light at the end of the tunnel isn't an omen to believe better things. Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel is going to spark the addiction that will destroy me. Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel is a train.
No comments:
Post a Comment