oh, father (or: what i would say at my father's funeral)

queer-with-a-pen

you hurt me

you selfish

fucking

bastard

 

i was just a kid

a young boy wondering

where his father was

 

telling the other kids in

my kindergarten

first

second

and third grade classes

that i didn’t have a father

 

and that never felt like a lie

seeing as you never had

the time for parenting

media and fiction told me

what a father should be

 

and you never did live 

up to that

the image i had in my head

of what it meant 

for a father to be loving

 

and

and 

and

i am drunk

 

i am drunk

and angry

and hurting

 

but never enough to

pick up the phone

not that you would ever call

and not that i would ever answer

 

and i am still licking

the wounds that an absent

childhood left behind

wondering when this

void will close

waiting for a scab to form

that is no longer so damn flimsy

 

and my tattoo artist tells me

that his father was like mine

but also worse

and when his father died

everything he felt for him

died, too

 

and 

and

and

i wonder if that will

happen to me, too

 

will all the memories

the hurt outweighing the good

finally burn out?

will i stop longing for

something i never had?

 

will the fact that

you never wanted me

as a daughter

or as a son

stop aching

so damn much?

 

will you have to die

for me to no

longer

be afraid? 

  • Author: Boaz Priestly (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: August 12th, 2019 00:07
  • Comment from author about the poem: This is one of those poems that took me a week or two to actually type up in a word document. It wasn't supposed to be as angry as it is, but I don't feel anything towards my father besides hurt, resentment, fear, and anger at this point in my life. I don't know if I feel any better after getting it out of my head. Christ. Yeah, there definitely isn't anything I need to work through with a professional instead of a bottle of cheap beer.
  • Category: Letter
  • Views: 23
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Comments +

Comments1

  • dusk arising

    These feelings are out and good for you for saying it BLUNT cos its so hurtful for you. He damaged you.

    But you are not beyond recovery. The very fact that you are poetic shows you are evacuating the damage from your soul. It will take time and you should be gentle with the process.

    MPS is a very theraputic place where goodwill exists in bucket loads.

    Publishing what you write when drunk really gets it off your chest. I hope your head feels ok - hangover wise.

    • queer-with-a-pen

      Thank you so much for the kind words! I am definitely in the process of recovery, and some days are easier than others. I do write about my father the most when drunk, cuz I guess it’s easier to get it all out that way.

      I’m gonna go drink some water now😊



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