Daddy, Daddy

Can you really tell me
who I am supposed to be?

And why?

Why must you feel the need
to change who I am,
will it change who we are,
if I were to lose every star
that currently lies
in the depths of my eyes?

Why must you feel the need
to scorn the things important to me?

Do you enjoy knowing I cry
in the pitch dark late at night?
Do you laugh when I switch off the light
and curl in the corner and empty my eyes?
Do you smile when you think of the image
of a small teenage girl
locking herself up inside her own world
to try and get away from the monsters that yell at her,
do you think it is funny when chains constrict around my heart
so tight I can barely breathe?

I wish I could leave.
I wish I didn’t have to hear
when you talk about the things that I hold dear.
My music, to you, belongs in the garbage,
my books, to you, belong unpublished.

Father, Father, please tell me the truth.
Don’t you lie to me anymore.
Father, Father, please tell me you hate me,
so I can try and close the door
between you and me.

All these holes we dig between
the lord that is you
and the leper that is me,
will you push me into the deepest one
and cover me up in dirt
and place that stone above my head and flowers in my hair?
For that is where we are headed.
You standing on the cliff
while I fall at the speed of sound.
Will you smile, will you laugh when I hit the ground,
will you throw achilleas and butterfly weed after me
to fall around my shoulders and be watered by my blood?

Daddy, daddy, why can’t you love me?
Why must you tell me who I’m supposed to be?
Why can’t I just be who I’m growing up to be?
Daddy, daddy, why can’t you see
all the things your anger does to me,
and that every time you scorn and yell and seethe
that you kill a little part of something inside of me?

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Poignant, intense and powerful. The poet has conveyed the intensity wonderfully.


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