I accept it already,
but man, it still makes me sad.
I let it sink in heavy
when I think about my dad.
I probably need a new purpose,
I need to write a new plot.
Throw all your words out—they’re *****.
Still think I hate you a lot.

See, this time I been spending
trapped in my head since I was 10.
Came home, you were swinging
from that noose 'round your neck.
Had to pull you down quickly—
"Dad, I saved you, you’re here."
Then Mom just yelled across the house:
“Hide the pills, hide the shears.”

So I did—running kid.
I'm fast, but a fatty.
Four-foot me just tryna
save my daddy.
Did what I was told,
always thought I was a good kid.
Then you jumped in the pool and started sinking—you did.
So I jumped in, and we pulled you out too.
Got you a towel
and said, “This wasn’t you.”
Told you, you were a good dad—
and please, man, I meant it.
But slowly through the ages,
I learned to resent it... and learned to replay it.

Why the ******* wanna die so bad? What the **** do you mean?
How the ******* gonna come home and just stare at a screen?
How the ******* gonna cheat on Mom and then blame her?
How the ******* gonna drug test me, same time abuse percs?
How the ******* wanna play like that—a sad, broken man—
when all the **** we ever wanted was your hand as our friend?
How the ******* never bring it up? It’s hard to pretend
that I didn’t come home a broken child, turned to a broken man.

The world was tough, Dad—didn't need you to be tougher.
I already spent my days angry—Dad, I was taught to suffer.
Bottled up, spent a lotta time with the Guidance.
Then I met some good friends who wouldn’t let me sit in silence.
Learned my pain was inside, and my problem external.
I'll never forget the look when you turned from your journal—
We were fighting and yelling, at the world and at me—
Then you asked what my problem was, and I said truthfully:

“Dad, I wanna die. I can’t stand my life, I’m a mess.
I’m a victim of existence, I’m a threat to my end.
I’m lonely, I’m alone, I’m sad, I’m stressed—
I’m broken, and can’t feel many more days depressed.
I want off the ride, Dad. I don’t know about you,
but I think I wanna **** myself. What do I do?”

And in that moment, I became a man—wish I was kidding.
'Cause you brushed it off, told me that you wished I would end it.
Silence like a gunshot, blew open my eardrums.
Heart never felt the same—am I still human?

Did my dad love me? That’s what they say now...
But you’ve been dead so long, I can't even say how,
or when the last time was you told me you loved me.
That **** sits with me—even at thirty-something.

The forest is filled with people like me.
The birds, their songs, the frogs, and the trees.
A chorus to hollow by each passing day,
adoring the morning, the sun and its warning,
to follow him in his way.
For chance may have it, the cold vicious smile,
the ball going round only once in a while,
may one day wake, to see the others are sleeping.
And find that you are the only one weeping.

There's a spot of touched impurity,
sitting in the field.
Next to all the other snow plots,
this one's beauty unsealed.
Giving warning of past times,
and no one yet has said it:
Relish the memory of touched impurity,
If only I'd have read it.

I heard a voice, questioning me.
Shocked, and puzzled, I turned 'round to see.
There, between 2 frames and between 3 folds
I heard the wandering man, and his story to unfold.
"Look me in the moon,
and ignore the reflection.
Was it not I, your first affection?
Was it not you, my pupil born first?
With life slipping between your hands,
with rain dripping so much worse.
Come into the shower,
of heavenly origins through.
Come greet me by the flowers,
come let me introduce you."
And with a whisper, the man fell back into his shadow.

I, the one, to the beauty of such exposed,
That held the lamps and shades, and windows and woes.
From under cracks and above doorways, I see
What's left of a thought, an old distant memory.
Grown in the field, a love tucked away
Ending not far, a sundrop shall sway.
There, rocky cliffs and birds flying high
beauty enough for flowers,
and beauty enough for I.
We and the forest, and the forest and we
again shall know the lines to be.
And be, my love, in the storm we shall dance
and shiver, together, in our Mother in nature's hands.

If only if only, the birds would have told me
my thoughts and brain would wear thin.
If only if only, the wind could have sold me
to the earth where my story begins.
If only if only, the sun wasn't shining,
and your face would reflect not a ray.
If only if only, my thoughts weren't lonely,
and I could write a humble, simple day.
If only, my only, my words pouring out,
in vacant parking lots, with empty doubts.
My only, my only, my escape from the void,
the beautiful emptiness inside being toyed.
If only my only would cherish and hold me, as much as I to it, and I being lonely.
If only my sorrow could be over 'morrow, and leave me in the field, alone, and still borrowed.
If only my brain would work in the rain, or the drips of my mind were mute,
A silent endeavor, a quiet forever, a golden garden together, my mind to a feather,
and a new perspective absolute.

They couldn't think of something to say
the day you left.
When it rains it pours, you said.
I nodded and took another drag.
We would watch the dogs run around the yard,
oblivious to what had just happened,
and pretend we could be just like them.
I couldn't think of what to say,
short of "I love you, mom" but even those words
choked coming up.
So we sat in silence, and pretended we were everything around us,
and nothing inside of us,
while everything outside of us was falling apart too.

"I hate this **** house" you said.
I nodded and took another drag.