Who To Call

I am desperate in my search for absolution
I do not wish to become my father
I’d claw my heart out of my ribcage
Than to resemble such a cruel man

I am ridden with guilt and disappointment
I am forever trying to repent for my sins
I am begging to make up for my losses
Always wondering, “When will I be free from such consuming grief?”

I chastise myself for losing a moment’s control
It’s silly I care about what others think of me
For the real critic that makes the nastiest remarks
Is me, my unyielding need for perfection, and my deep-set remorse

I cannot allow me father’s rage take ahold of me
I cannot allow my father’s heartlessness to be unleashed
I cannot allow my father’s unspeakable scandals define me
I cannot allow my father’s venom to lace my words with poison

I cannot deny the unbearable hurt that washes over me
When my mother compares me to my other 50% percent
Can’t she see? Why can’t she see? Will she ever see?
Just how much I obliterate myself to never take after him?

“You’re just like him,” she mutters, “You come from the same rotten nest as his family.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Should I laugh? Should I cry? Should I beg for mercy?
Do you know how terrible someone must be,
That their own child would rather kill themself than turn into a monster?

I think of words I know I’ll never say
Like “how could I resemble someone I don’t even know?”
And, “how could you direct your unsolved trauma at me?”
But unfortunately, an absent father doesn’t mean absent resentment from a mother

Albeit I know my mother is a kind woman
A kinder human than my father could ever be
Sometimes, her words sting like a hive of bees
Especially when it’s aimed like a missile at my most tender wounds

Perhaps there is a sort of satisfaction, a sigh of relief
The worst has happened, I have become him, now what?
Genes pass on, no matter how vicious and inhumane
You can’t change something simply from trying or wishing hard enough

Sometimes, I wonder if my mother looks at me and sees him
Does she see a cheater? A liar? A manipulator? A monster?
Does she wish me gone? Pray me forgotten and lost?
It’s cruel to think such thoughts, but there’s still a question mark left, isn’t there?

I couldn’t count on my fingers how many times I wish I wasn’t born
Not for some self-deprecating, depressive, mentally ill reason
But just because I wish I didn’t carry my ancestor’s warring baggages
My mother’s side pleading to do good, my father’s side chanting to do worse

Be better. Be softer. Be kinder. Be smarter. Be prettier. Be quieter.
Succumb to this. This madness. This fury. This disdain. This hatred.
Turn to the light. Seek the forgiveness you know you don’t deserve.
Destroy it. All of it. Your past, your present, your future. Your love. Yourself.

It all fades away into nothing, a void, an emptiness
Just a blank stare of painfully mastered masked hurt
Please don’t stare at me for too long, please don’t turn to look a second time
In case you want to find someone who hopes to be nothing at all, you know who to call