Done

Grilling mouth-watering hamburgers,
roasting marshmallows in the backyard,
catching snowflakes on our tongues,
tickling each other until it felt like our insides would burst,
or simply spending time together.
This is a father.

Looking out for me no matter what,
giving me advice, (whether I wanted it or not)
and putting my needs first at all times.
This is a father.

Hey daddy,
Where are you?
Were you ever really here?
The two of us use to dance around
in circles, the room
spinning out of control.
A metallic taste of blood in my mouth,
your fist pounds onto my head
like a continuous drum beat.
The tears form crystal pools
in the corner of my eyes
and slide, shimmering down my cheek.
You continue to pound out my soul, like a loaf of bread,
while my heart shatters into pieces.
Is this a father?

Finally, you’re through
my body lays on the floor,
dragged down by my bleeding heart.
You pick up your whiskey bottle, half empty,
point your gnarled finger at me
and laugh,
proud of what you’ve done.
I sit and cry, ignoring the physical pain,
wondering what I’ve done to deserve this,
daddy.
Is this a father?

But you’re not done yet,
Are you daddy?
You’re never done.