Come.Home.Soon.
The man in the next room.
Is not my Father.
The man in the next room
Whose breath reeks of alcohol;
Whose sentences come out fast, muttered, and whispered,
Is not my Father.
My Father has left.
Gone somewhere. He does this every other month.
And in his place is this man.
Who looks like him. Sounds like him. Laughs like him.
...Cries like him...
He always comes back, but…
But what?
Why does he leave me? Where does he go?
Is there something wrong with me? Can I not bring him happiness?
I'm tired.
And weak.
And vulnerable.
I miss you Daddy.
Come.home.soon.
Is not my Father.
The man in the next room
Whose breath reeks of alcohol;
Whose sentences come out fast, muttered, and whispered,
Is not my Father.
My Father has left.
Gone somewhere. He does this every other month.
And in his place is this man.
Who looks like him. Sounds like him. Laughs like him.
...Cries like him...
He always comes back, but…
But what?
Why does he leave me? Where does he go?
Is there something wrong with me? Can I not bring him happiness?
I'm tired.
And weak.
And vulnerable.
I miss you Daddy.
Come.home.soon.
♠ ♠ ♠
[ORIGINAL NOTES:]also alternatively titled; "an emo poem I wrote jussssst for you, you mother fucker."((ahem, so this is pretty old, but I thought I'd share it with you all.))