do i know you?

queer-with-a-pen

stranger with my face,

where have you been?

where have you gone?

 

can’t find the answers

watching myself shave

in the dirty mirror,

where blood that we both

once shared drips into

the sink from a cut

on my chin

 

do you remember when

you wanted to prove

that i wasn’t your son,

until you had to

pay for it?

 

because i do,

and laugh every time

i tell that story

like it doesn’t still hurt

 

as if i don’t look

exactly like you;

 

and a door closes,

but a window doesn’t open

 

after all, there are no exits

in this hallway constructed

from grief that slowly

curdles into hate

 

and i could drink about this,

but what’s the point?

this is a hurt that knows

how to swim

 

but i’d like to toast anyway,

so here’s three cheers

to absent fathers,

the boy he never wanted to see,

and the man he never gets to know

 

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Comments +

Comments5

  • spilleronsheet

    This is sad
    Too sad
    Why abandon once and then return
    Isn’t it farce
    It’s better to be known as child of heaven
    Than to know some stranger as guardian
    Very emotional write, dear poet

  • woundedheart

    So bittersweet that a man could judge his own flesh and blood on something so beautiful as love, love shouldn't be categorized it should be celebrated. This is a very heart felt piece full of emotion. ☺

  • L. B. Mek

    Happy New Year!
    dear talented Poet
    just another, surgical
    distillation
    of such commonly experienced
    woes and hurts,
    words I relate with, on so many levels
    simply: Brilliant!
    confessional poetry,
    I think Sylvia Plath, herself
    would agree..
    thank you! for choosing to share
    loved these lines:
    'watching myself shave
    in the dirty mirror,
    where blood that we both
    once shared drips into
    the sink from a cut
    on my chin

    do you remember when
    you wanted to prove
    that i wasn’t your son'..

  • FallenAngel1🕊

    😢😡😢😡😢😡😢😡😢😡😢😡😢😡😢

  • James Michael

    How can you know a father who really wasn’t there for you?

    A painfully raw and emotionally real poem from you. Metaphorically brilliant lines throughout. “this is a hurt that knows how to swim” is my favorite.

    • queer-with-a-pen

      I thought about this poem for months, but could never find the words for a good ending. Until it was 12am and I had class in the morning, of course. Couldn’t sleep until I wrote it.

      As always, thank you for continuing to read and support my work, my friend!



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