Skip to main content

A Teenager to her Father

I wish I could go back.
Back to when I was falling asleep on you at church, with you gently playing with my hair.
Drifting in and out as the preacher's words float around my head.

 I wish we were back there.
Back to the innocence and simplicity of life.
Back to when I was your pure perfect angel...unable to cause harm.

 I wish we didn't have to fight.
About curfew and boys.
About right and wrong.

 I wish we weren't so similar.
Stubborn and persistent.
Caring and opinionated.

 I wish we weren't so different.
"Good versus Bad"
My hatred for confrontation, and your love of expression.

 I wish you were my best friend.
Calling you when I'm caught.
Asking you for advice and homework help.

 I wish I didn't screw up.
Or let you down over and over again.
I wish I hadn't bruised and broken your image of me.

 I wish you still looked at me with hope.
I wish the disappointment would leave your eyes.
I wish I still made you smile,
and never made you cry
I wish you still gave prayers of gratitude for a daughter like me,
instead of asking God what you did wrong.
I wish you didn't feel shame for my actions,
and still felt proud of me
I wish you didn't blame yourself for my destruction...

 I wish I could make things right again, just go back to those Sunday mornings in church...but instead I sit here, writing this, wondering how in the world it has come to this. How I let you down so many times that the hope has drained from your eyes, how I've let us drift so far, and how IVE messed up so badly that YOU feel like the failure. 

 I wish that when I looked into your eyes I still felt like I could achieve anything, and that no matter what, your love for me was unbreakable. And I wish so badly that in your eyes I was still your flawless miraculous princess.

 I'm so sorry dad..

Written October 13, 2011 as a senior in high school. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Prompt: The Dust of Old Bones

I am realizing that when given a prompt, I want to write anything and everything that comes to mind. I am beginning to explore prompts and this one is from a SLC Group called "Salty Scribblers" Deep in her closet a box lies, the dust has spread over the top and seeped to the sides. It has moved with her again and again, though only receives a hesitant glance now and then. But sometimes In her dreams she skips to it, excited to rummage through and release the treasures inside. As she peeks in, she sees distant memories, fervent feelings, and amusement of all kinds.  A Pink and worn Teddy Bear with arms open and a rainbow kite, ripped and bright.  A Snowman sits at the bottom, still frosty and needing a nose.  The scraped knees and rain puddles remind her of play. Some nights she takes one or two out and lays them on her sleeping self, testing the fit.  The beliefs are the hardest to fit.  Her parents know all and her sister protects no matter her own monster wall...
Post a Comment
Read more

Lilac Sidewalk

  Same Sidewalk.  As Yesterday.  It catches you by surprise.   But today. They are here. Either smell or sight and you are called out. Silky petals. Our female elders peeking out with their violet irises The smell, oh the smell.  It swirls in your chest trying to coat your lungs, for just a little bit longer. Same Sidewalk. As Yesterday. You see the crispy. The sun held them just a little bit too long. Close enough, the smell sits still.  But the drops have drifted. Toasted and broiled. It’s gone so fast. Sad and True. I mourn for those that missed it. For those that will forget.  Same Sidewalk.  As Yesterday. Their abode remains season to season. Empty and forgotten Their graceful presence is now a brief memory. Every now and again, I remember what was once. And what will be again.
Post a Comment
Read more

Prompt: The Ghost of You

I see in you the pain she holds. The unbearable thought of not being what we need. Could I even recognize you. If you appeared as an outline of us. As a ghost in my dreams. Who you used to be, traces the outlines of your eyes. Fades into therapy sessions on the past. The ghost of you when you're stressed and overwhelmed. Your emotions taking hold. Ghost of you shoved deep. Until your stomach aches and your head pounds. The ghost of you hides in books and sleep. I feel like I carry the wounds of her with me but am not sure how to heal. I can feel her shadow when you hug me, an apology lingering on the too long of squeeze. Why can’t I seem to let go, of the ghost of you.
Post a Comment
Read more