Man of the House
Some fathers are born miserable
I think
Or at least mine was
He had a rough childhood
He hardened his heart
Threw out his feelings- left unused
He stares at the world with dead eyes
Soon, he's gifted with children
You'd think kids would change him
But he remains a miserable man to this day
Dragging us through the muck of his pain
Allowing us to swallow his discomfort and agony
Instead of teaching us things
Like love and regulating feelings-the good, the bad, and the downright ugly
We learned how to be filled with rage and emptiness
How to yell until our voice bounces off the walls
Our faces red from our generational anger
We can't help but tether his suffering
To our bones
But as an "adult"
In her Wretched Twenties
Who sees him with fresh eyes
I will not be the keeper of my fathers' pain
