queer-with-a-pen

who's your daddy?



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

Comments2

  • dusk arising

    There is a great deal of pain and sadness pouring out of your words today. And sincerity. Very moving indeed.

    • queer-with-a-pen

      Thank you for the compliment, and for reading my work! It means a lot. I am pretty proud of this poem, and it means a lot that others like it, too.

      • dusk arising

        From experience, this site works best if you comment on other poets posts on here. It doesn't guarantee that they will comment upon yours but it certainly helps to get more people reading you. Now having said that, go and have a look at mine please LOL.

      • LAWLESS

        It is sad to read that your father isn’t more involved in your life. Then on the other hand maybe it’s a good thing if all he would do is hurt you.

        I’m sure your adulthood will be filled with the love you deserve. I’ve always told my son to be patient; the hard times are temporary. There will be more good days than bad.

        I love this poem! You’re the only poet I’ve come across on this site that consistently writes with raw emotions.

        • queer-with-a-pen

          When I was in grade school, I used to tell the other kids I didn’t have a father. Not because he’d died, but because he just wasn’t there. I think that hurt more as a boy, and I’m angrier now.

          I am very lucky though, since I’ve got an amazing father figure who’s been more like a dad than my own ever was. It sucks I had to wait so long to know what it’s like to have a father, but I’m thankful for it nonetheless. And you’re right, there are always more good days than bad. Old scars just ache sometime.

          It continues to mean so much to me that you read and enjoy my work. It makes me feel more secure in putting so much of myself in to my words. As always, thank you.



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