I hate your addiction.
Wish you would listen.
But it always comes first.
I pray you’d hate it enough to dismiss and kick it.
So you can live, maybe feel without altering your mind.
Which I see is protecting you from your trauma.
That blasts loud music tirelessly all the time.
I never understood who you were and why.
So I never seen you as a broken child, in an adult mind.
I just seen my dad.
Now when I look back.
I see, you never expressed emotions with kind words.
They were usually volatile and sometimes physically hurt.
You were supposed to be the man that your child loves first.
And the best thing you gave us, was up.
No words.
That used to hurt.
You gave up.
You left us.
Started Over.
Cali new.
Kept us close.
Yet for years, we seldom seen or heard from you.
I was supposed to be daddy’s girl.
I waited in cold places where you told me to.
Waiting for you to show up.
You still never do.
I put you above everyone in this world.
But you always left me hanging.
Some, “daddy’s little girl”.
This is what made me.
This was the part in my life, that I believed warped and misshaped me.
I had to find that comfort other ways indeed.
Thanks to you I grew thick skin.
You taught me.
no one is coming.
No one will save me.
My First lesson.
I past unscathed.
Or so I keep saying.
I learned to stop waiting.
I can admit for a long time, I was ashamed to get involved with conversations where fathers were the topic.
Because that’s one subject, I can’t vividly recall.
But I can feel and see the damage it has made and caused.
So my opinion may be a little more jaded is all.
You never showed up for me as a kid.
Even now, I sometimes question myself like why do you choose to show up for him?
Because, You’re my dad?
But I owe you nothing.
You taught me everything, without giving me anything.
If only you could use your intelligence for the good of something.
I hate your obsession.
I wish you would listen.
I need my dad.
Not his addiction.
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