am i a young boy
or a young man?
the only answer that
i have is i am alone
and i am afraid
night is closing in
i want my mother
i want my father
but does my father want me?
another answer i don’t have
cold seeping into my bones
feeling both too small and
too big for my skin
my wrists and hands look like his
the lights are on
but the house burnt
down long ago
and i sit at a table
made from charred and twisted wood
waiting for my father
to eat with me
to even look at me
but he never shows
because of course he doesn’t
and i sit at that table
until i am a young boy again
waiting for my father to
carry me to bed and tuck me in
and still he is not there
just me and empty plates
full of rotting food
and all these broken promises
the broken heart of a young boy
still beats within my chest
wondering what i did wrong
when it never was me at all
just a selfish man
that never should have been a parent
and i stop waiting then
packing that particular wound
with cotton and whispered apologies
promising to never let it happen again
and my knees creak
when i stand
fitting my skin like i should
an old heart in a young body
and the lights are on
but the house burnt
down long ago
and and and
i tell the remains of this house
that never was my home
that i’m just stepping out
for a smoke
with no intention
of ever going back