3 ; and then it poured | ✎

f o u r

[ four ]
❝i am feasted upon a dream
 that was never once mine.❞

these days i own a fear
of being abandoned
the process has started years ago,
skin by skin, each layer of me peeled off
like the peach wallpaper
on our living room always
filled with smoke from my father's cigarette
and when he looks at me,
i know all at once—regret overflowed with
unbounded rage
one that i knew all too well
for it resides in me (a trait i own wretchedly),
the anger for not being enough
he always yearned for a son and he got one—
all smart and incomparable (his favorite)
but he (my brother) wanted different,
started out his own dry runs
and now my father's pride lay on his feet
he felt betrayed, discarded (if only he knew)
when his consuming rage touched me
his expectations of me skyrocketing
nights drowsing in cigarette nightmares haunting 
the days i lay awake
pathetically bound to his expectations
my dreams were not my own, but a projection of his
entwined with mine,
(i am no good daughter)
after all, it was not my decision to be a quack;
laundering money in the name of saving lives
just to quench his thirst and his so called pride
my dream long forgotten

a/n: a poem inspired from a phrase from the poem "The Invitation" by William Blake—
❝Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night.❞

ps. this poem has never been more personal.