The Death of My Father

I'm broken.
Defeated.
I've got nothing left.

I tried so hard to make you understand.
I tried so hard to forgive you,
to take your lies and make them truth.
Or was it really truth, and I made it lies?
I don't know anymore - I can't care anymore.
To care any longer would just mean more pain.

Why do you reject me?
Do you hate me?
Is my presence so terribly horrid?
Why do you avoid me?
Do I remind you too much of the
Son you lost to cancer?
Why don't you love me?
Have I caused you so much grief?
Then why do you cause grief in me?
Why did you kill me?
Did you want to erase every last bit
of Andrew's existence from this world?

I tried to keep in touch.
You ignored me.
I tried to keep you in my life.
You ran even farther from me.
I tried to continue loving you.
You made me feel despised.

My soul has been ripped in two,
And the part that I clung to so tightly
Has been shattered and trampled upon.
The smallest, most hidden part of my heart,
Yet the most vital to me, has been ripped
From my chest and mercilesly destroyed.

Can you see them?
My tears, which stain not only this paper,
But the legacy of my Father?
Can you hear them?
My silent sobs through the night, which cannot
Be soothed, even by my Mother's loving words.
Can you feel it?
My heart-wrenching longing for the only part of
my Father that is still alive, yet has been denied me?
Can you taste it?
My despair, that my Father's family would deny me,
Which makes it feel like I am denied by my own Father?
Can you smell it?
The stench of resentment, boiling within me,
Waiting for a chance to turn into rage?

Can you possibly understand what you
Have done to me, and done so casually?
I want to forgive you, I want to love you again,
But how can that happen when the desire to
Love and be loved by the other party
Is completely one-sided?
I want to remember my Father, but when I do,
I remember you, and the pain returns in full.
And so I am forced to stop thinking of him,
Hoping I won't forget him.

Congratulations, Steven.
You've graduated from childhood
Into adulthood.
And guess what? Life's a bitch.