THC Meets Poetry

My Father's Daughter

They tell me I’m just like my father, in an attempt to correct that I became the man of the house so that I could no longer be his daughter. I got older only to find that blood ain’t always thicker than water. And it’s because of him that my temper now runs hotter.

I hate that we share the same smile. speak in the same style. If we are truly alike then why is it that I don't have your number to dial? Why won’t you be the one walking me down the aisle? Or holding my first born child? Why do you have to possess a heart that is so vile? And if I’m just like you, does that mean that I too am a narcissist in denial? Better call the authorities and put me on trial.
Now that I’m fresh out of the loony bin I’ve created a new profile. Hopefully one that is more worthwhile, but I feel that after all this trauma I am destined to go senile.

I despise that I have your deep set dark eyes. A skill in telling white lies. The ability to easily cut ties. A desire to always own the biggest brightest prize. Choosing women based on their size and only thinking about what’s between their thighs. I am covered in sin and need to be baptized, but as a poor man I’m afraid that I do not own the right supplies, but I guess that’s no surprise, and so instead I will get down on my knees and pray to god for his forgiveness until I am blinded by the sunrise.

My father’s words, despite my bad memory, are song lyrics that I seem to have memorized. Manipulation, like him, is where I specialize. His accusatory finger is something I have tried to sit and analyze but his scars weren’t exactly something that he cared to advertise.

Dad, you are the reason why I carry all of this hatred. Why my personality constantly needs to be updated and upgraded. Why I’m smoking these herbs till I’m far gone and faded. Kissing the glass bottle till I’m fully intoxicated. You are the reason why I feel that I deserve to be degraded. I don’t understand why you had to make your love so complicated or why losing you had me left me so devastated. I felt the biological disconnect when we separated. You are the one who convinced me that love is overrated. What is affection? I wouldn’t know as I’ve never had it properly demonstrated. No book of positive affirmations and healthy communication to be illustrated. No emotional milestones of mine that were ever celebrated. So now I just live everyday anxious and agitated. Angry and aggravated. 

I remember the nights you forced me to sit under your desk. I sat under there for hours silently pleading for you to let me go back to my room and rest. It's a silent plea because you had trained me to stay quiet and never protest. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t tell my assaulter "no" that night as he started to get me undressed. You taught me not to draw attention to myself so I keep these memories submerged and suppressed, but I have to confess that I remember seeing you making love to a woman that wasn’t very impressed, but you didn’t care, however, as you only cared about keeping your dick wet and drowning our family in serious debt. This is getting hard to talk about, somebody light me a fucking cigarette.

I’m getting stressed out and need a healthier outlet, but the anxiety has me breaking out in a cold sweat. Just pass me the bong so I can get fucked up and forget. These images of him are something I just cannot accept. His lack of attention gave me a phobia of neglect. Someone help me escape this nightmare and change the fucking subject. Every piece of me that was shattered my father would pick up and collect. It was the only thing outside of his music equipment that he would overprotect. 

I can recall when he would squeeze my little toes until they turned white. Purposefully leaving marks that were out of sight because he knew that if my mother saw them the two of them would be sent into an endless fight. It’s getting darker in these recollections now so can you pass me a flashlight? Let me share the things my father would do just simply out of spite. He is the reason I became a night owl in love with the moonlight. I had grown used to the insomnia he instilled in me during the hours of midnight.

So Go ahead and let them say that I’m just like my father, I’ll just sit there unfazed and unbothered. I’m used to their comparisons and have decided to wear them like a collar with honor. Throw another negative curve ball at me, and give me all you have to offer. It’ll give me something to write about. Hell, maybe it’ll make me a better author and possibly make me an extra dollar.