Notes to my father
Wouldn’t be notes.
They would just be
Pictures, Because father’s
Don’t deserve words
As the words for fathers
Are always harsh.
They stem from the
Times when the father
Wasn’t around, and so
For the pictures, you both
Must’ve been in the same
Space, and so those
Are enough to hint
At the absence, but
Hints are not as harsh,
Because by destroying
Your father, you destroy
Yourself. Of course you
Rise like the phoenix,
But no one told you
About the burnt skin
Under their flaming

When we were younger,
It was just an act
We were putting out
For the rest of the

We knew we were
And that’s why we
Got along.

But a decade later
You’ve become what
You pretended to be
And I only got better
At the act.