just a man in the house.

i've been thinking about my dad a lot more recently.

i'm not quite sure why.

 

i often find that he fills my mind

at the worst times.

i wonder where we would have been if we never fell out.

i wonder what i would've been like if he treated me better.

if he was a dad

my dad

and not just a man in the house.

my childhood consisted much of begging.

like a dog under the dinner table

i hoped for a treat

and more often than not

i only received crumbs.

i hoped my dad would treat me like i meant something.

and some days he did.

other days i felt nonexistent.

and now thinking about it

i spent all my time hoping i would get kidnapped on the way home

or that maybe i'd get hit by a car

something bad

anything

enough to make my dad care

enough for him to be my dad.

yet as i got older

and i was in the hospital one too many times

my dad had still never shown up.

but i couldn't even be angry.

my mom always told me he was out of town

or he really couldn't make it in.

always an excuse

to shield me from the pain of the fact my dad didn't want to see me.

he didn't care enough

and all i needed was him.

and when we never spoke again

in my head he was dead

but i never got the chance to grieve him.

and i think about him a lot. 

and now there are times im convinced im unfit

im unloveable

in any human relationship

because i grew up hard to love.

i felt like i was a chore

to the person that is supposed to love you

unconditionally

no matter what.

i remember when my gifts to him

would end up in the trash.

and only then would mom save them.

and now i have to make sure every gift i give

is the best yet

but i still worry they aren't good enough.

i remember when he would yell

though being louder did not get his point across any better

and now i know to remain quiet anytime someone yells

just so it would end faster.

i remember he had told me

"no matter how loud you are, no one will care to listen"

but apparently the same did not go for him.

because i listened.

and i sat like a dog taking in every word

learning from my mistakes

so maybe he wouldn't yell again

though we both know that wasn't true. 

i remember watching him treat my mom

the worst a woman could be treated

and i assumed this was how love worked.

i assumed that love hurts

and now every love i've ever had

hurts.

but never the same way he hurt me.

but always similar.

and now i am told daily that i am mature.

i don't want to be mature.

but i'll never get my childhood back.

the nights i spent comforting my mom

telling her to leave him.

being a child and telling her

that we would figure it out.

but she never did.

which hurts to watch.

the times i spent sitting in my room

hearing yelling and crying from downstairs

as he put my mom down the minute he got home.

being a child

and bringing my stuffed animals to them both

to make the fighting stop.

and my mom would hold them tightly

as he shoved his back into my hand.

and yet after all of this

i still love tenderly.

i am polite with my sadness

because i don't want to be my dad

my anger hides deep beneath all the other emotions i hold.

because i want to save everyone else the pain

and i will set myself aflame before i ever purposely cause one harm.

i worry i may turn out like him though.

i have my father's eyes

but what if one day i break 

and i become what i fear.

i've been thinking about my dad a lot more recently.

i'm not quite sure why.

 

i often find that he fills my mind

at the worst times.

i wonder if he ever thinks about me.

i wonder if he regrets what he did.

or didn't do. 

if he was a dad

my dad

and not just a man in the house.

-o