How Can I Recognize…
Still wrestling with the fact I wasn’t worth your time.
My mind’s sticky. But funny… Missing the sweetness of honey. Tarred by the scars of you not being there for me. Having to worry about if you loved me.
You never hugged me. Or acted in a way to indicate you weren’t running away from me. How did you frame responsibility? The pain that resulted was stunning.
Now the stains are more than skin deep. Been peeped, the nest you made has been weak. Blown apart by the storm from which you never defend me.
I feel like you created them… There I go creating hate again. I wish I could stop stoking my emotion’s whims. Hoping the past could begin again and I could feel significant.
Supposed to be older now, wiser. But I’m still tortured by my path through the fire. Instead of being ignited, I’d smolder. Anything to turn my heart colder. So I could match what you told with your shoulders.
You didn’t say it explicitly. But actions always speak. Kids might not be listening. But they’re watching. And the time not spent made me feel the clock was an offering. Sacrificed it to make it to the top of your office. Watching the clock at home couldn’t wait to be off again. The work of being alert to your family’s worth wasn’t as satisfying as promotion’s wins.
You sure weren’t watching me. More interested in watching screens. Never talked to me, the TV seemed to be a better plot than me. More stories for talking with your office team. Feel like when you left the house is when you got released.
Why was being around such a burden? Didn’t you know your absence would lead to a hurt son? The confidence denied never ever let me shine. Didn’t believe that I was even worth a find. If the one who helped birth me didn’t recognize, why would I hope to be seen by other’s eyes?
Your lack of vision is still affecting mine. To self actualize, I’m probably taking record time. My blind eyes lead me to these wrecks of mine. Reckon that my mind doesn’t know to recognize the effort of the signs the higher power slides in lives. I’m still looking in the mirror, asking who am I?
I’m worthy of love…? Is that the truth or lies? Real eyes realize real lies, and I can’t see the five fingers that I use to write. I can only guess how my eyes comprised…
