||[May. 17th, 2005|05:48 pm]
I will drink your cup of poison|
I cried. I finally cried.
For about three minutes,
because I made myself stop.
I thought he would change. I really did
My mom's been waiting for twenty-five fucking years
for him to be what we've hoped he could be
...and there's been very few changes. Very few indeed
In fact, I think it's gotten worse.
But, I always make him seem worse than he actually is.
"Oh yeah, my dad's a stoner.
No biggie. Really. It doesn't affect me much
He only did anything once in awhile
And even then, he did it out in the garage,
where the most dangerous thing he could do
when he was high,
was cut off his arm with a saw.
I would tell people about him,
making myself believe he wasnt actually that bad
He really isn't.
At least I think so.
He's the friendliest guy I know.
Laughing, smiling, actually talking to me
But only in public.
Fuck, he's not one of those raving mad abusers
his hidden emotions only released at home.
He's really not.
He's really cool. He blasts lovely music and does cool things.
He kinda acts like a kid. So I like him.
He just doesn't realize when he needs to be an adult.
I used to be the closest person to him in the world.
Once I turned 13, he forgot about me.
Once I was too old to handle, he gave up.
Now, he only spends time with Emma.
Once she reaches adolescense, he'll ditch her too.
If he's even still around by then.
There's been an empty spot in the driveway all day.
And I want him to come back.
I need him to come back.
I never told him I love him.
Through all the tears and agony.
I really do love him. I really do.
He doesn't know though.
I can tell.
Only one person in his family seems to care about him.
The rest push him away.
I've been pushing him away.
I feel like an asshole.
All this time I've believed hes been the asshole.
Well, he has.
But I think he was just reaching out for attention.
I see it now.
He tries to talk to my brother. Tries to start
some sort of convosation.
He has nothing to talk to us anymore.
My brother tells him to go away
that hes already told him this a hundred fucking times,
and to stop being such an asshole.
And he tries to talk to me,
I only mumble a yes or no.
I can see his pain now.
Hes a broken man.
Lonely, lost, without a home.
He only has Emma.
That's why he's so good to her.
And his friends from work too.
Maybe thats why he comes back home so late.
He finds happiness in other people.
And I see the pain in my mother's eyes.
He really is impossible sometimes.
But my mom only makes it worse.
She claims everything is his fault.
She says that he thinks hes innocent.
And he does.
Everyone thinks theyre innocent.
But there not.
My father isn't.
My mother isn't.
At least my dad knows hes not perfect.
My mom wont understand she's not.
I try to tell her and she starts ranting
about how I could possibly say that
when I've just seen what my dad has done to her.
I see the pain.
I see the pain.
Yesterday I was about to write a poem about him,
With eloquent words that twist and flow,
about what a terrible person he is, and what he's done,
Today I sit at my computer,
writing some crapass thing
that is most certainly not a poem
but more a poorly written story.
And I sit here wondering,
trying not to cry,
trying to make my father a part of my life again.
I don't want him to leave.
The past year has been tough.
I've rejected him.
And he the same toward me.
A mutual feeling.
And I began to miss him
My mother would ask me,
"Don't you care at all?"
I respond quickly, with a no.
I didn't think I cared.
I felt no emotion toward him when we got into a fight,
Just hatred and disgust.
I realize now,
that I longed for his return.
Why can't things be like they used to.
Why can't he give me piggybacks up the stairs when I am tired.
Why can't we laugh at cartoons together when I'm sick.
The world revolves.
A cycle of life and death.
Mortality and maturity.
And I sit here admist all the problems in the world,
I wonder why the hell people think this way.
Why is the goddam world like this.
Why does my dad feel alone.
Why does suicide lurk dangerously close to him.
Why do people do drugs when it ruins their lives.
Their families lives.
Why Why Fucking Why.
I can smell it on him when he comes into the house,
or when I get into his car.
I don't say anything.
Obviously it's a touchy subject.
And my sister isnt supposed to know.
Actually, no one is supposed to know.
so Shh don't tell anyone...
that my family is falling apart.
I'm falling apart.
Please Help Me.
"He’s crawling down the corridor
On his hands and knees --
Old charlie stole the handle and
The train won’t stop going --
No way to slow down."