I hate you.
I have always hated you.
That’s what I tell myself.
I avoid all conversation where you’re the topic.
I want nothing to do with you.
You left, why would I want you in my life?
You’re not here anymore. Were you ever here in the first place?
You hung us a swing but why should I care?
You’ve tucked us in at night but that means nothing.
That means nothing because I mean nothing to you.
We mean nothing to you.
You left and you didn’t come back.
Showing up at her grave when I’m fifteen years old is ten years too late old man.
How dare you show your face!
What did you think you could accomplish by showing up here again?
Did you think you could get your family back by showing up again?
You didn’t want us then, why would you want us now?
We’re broken and shadows of the people we used to be. We’re failures. Sinners marked forever by our failures with our damning being shown to all through the use of steel.
You didn’t want us then, why would you want us now?
You left.
I hate you.
That’s what I tell myself.
That’s what I tell myself to make it make sense. That’s what I tell myself to make it easier. That’s what I tell myself to make it hurt less.
Why did you leave us behind?
Were we not good enough for you?
Did we do something wrong?
Why don’t you love us, the same way we love you?
It’s easier to say I hate you then it is to feel the pain.
Why don’t you love me, Dad?
Did I do something wrong? Am I not good enough to be your son?
Aren’t you proud of me?











