I Dare You to Move

I asked myself the question "Why do I want to talk to him?"
I came up with, maybe because there is still that little girl,
screaming and demanding anything or anyone she can count on as a father.
I don't just want a dad, no, just a father.
A father is someone you can bond with, someone to talk to, someone to go to for advice, hell -just knowing that he's there.
While a dad is just that guy sitting on the couch,
or behind the the screen of the computer,
someone who seems to be there physically, but not mentally.

Deep inside, not even that deep,
I know that he could not provide that.
He would just cause more disappointment than what I already have.

Maybe that's why, late at night it just hits me.
It doesn't seem to get any better, it's the same empty feeling, the same shit.

That day, I yelled at him, defending my mother.
Sure, it must have hurt you,
but did you ever think that I had feelings, and you just weren't listening?
For the few years I grew up with you around, you were always the definition of a dad;
you always left.

It's no secret that in the past we had our differences, but in my eyes,
you skipped out on me when I needed you the most; little did I know.

Today, I see a kid and their father, and even now,
I wish I had those memories.

I dare you to move.