A Mind's Collection of Poems

Dad

You walk a different path. I follow sheepishly behind.
I wish you would stop running.

My asthma slows me down but I keep screaming after you.
You don't look back.
You never look back but you always slow down at the end of the road close enough for me to still catch a glimpse of your name. Dad.

The path is ridged. It hurts my feet.
You wore shoes.
The weather is cold and mum said to bring a sweater.
My sisters said you were quick, I guess I thought you'd hold my hand.
My sisters said the path was jagged, I guess I thought you'd carry me.
My sisters said that you left them too, I guess I thought we were more alike.

Maybe if I were faster and brought shoes and grabbed a sweater and didn't have asthma and brought an inhaler and took a head start and stopped screaming and could walk and was born. Maybe I'd be next to you.

But until then I'll be following sheepishly behind. On a different path with you.

I wish you would stop running.