My Father.
I see how he looks at me,
The man I looked up to.
His gaze, a complex mix of pride and disdain,
A reflection of the boy he wishes to see in me.
Last night he said he was proud of me,
For being the boy he wanted, a replica to be.
But lest he forgets, I’m more, or less for that matter
A mirror to his flaws, a reflection divine.
He knows only what he wants to about me,
A lie to himself, a narrative to set him free.
Every time I think, “Daddy, if ever you asked,
Then you would know.”
In his eyes, I see a stranger’s stare,
A man who’s afraid to face the truth he can’t bear.
Every time he looks at me, he manages to see just the man I’m not
So it breaks me,
To know I have his hands, his heart
That his rage now burns inside of me
And that I am every bit the monster he is
But he cannot bear to see.
Dunca9n 