I am sixteen…going on seventeen. I don’t know that the way I feel is real only in the moment. I mean it’s real but you have to know I’m too young to ‘love’ you and you alone it’s…its like chasing a butterfly so captivating till you catch it…then you catch it and it’s over, look over your shoulder; notice more and more just like it.
Now I’m seventeen almost eighteen. I had it all wrong before- my priorities. Playing games with you so you’d hate me. Now I think I love you- I receive it when you say you need me. Wherever I go I have you right there with me. Even when you’re not there I feel you near me.
Now I’m at the edge of your room like, “I knew I should have let you go- in fact I tried. Now look! Why? How? When? Are you sure it’s mine?” But I say nothing. I only sigh. I see you waiting…waiting in silence…angry as I refuse to reply.
Is this a nightmare…night terror; beyond my worst fear. Like losing my freedom; is that what this is? Did she trap me? Is she lying? No…its my fault we did…what we did…the way we did…again and again.
Now I’m about to be a father… I’m sixteen years old what do I know about a kid?
My father? What father. His father? Motto ‘why bother?’ It was all going so good now I’m regretting the very first time I called her. Called her over to me…
Asked her name and followed behind her until she broke and finally smiled at me…
My teens. My twenties…so on and so forth…No we’re married…what is that? But some paper? To me it’s worse.
Don’t you know I’ll never fix it or fold it or pick it up or empty it? Not until you fix your approach; I’m not your child…you make me tired. That’s why I drink and that’s reason why I avoid you every night.
I will never learn to talk to you without slamming the door in your face; I don’t mean to make you cry it’s just this pressure closing in on me whenever I’m in this place. In this prison. This house is no home. A man’s home is his castle but you’re no longer my queen you fell from your throne. You nag and moan and make me feel inadequate until I’m gone.
“Only happy when I’m with my friends? Money to blow and liquor to throw back? What do you expect? You tell your family I constantly come up short-constantly lack. I’m a waste…you make me seem like all I do is take up space? You’re a miserable girl and your expectations suffocate. Oh come on…don’t give me that face. Never mind…don’t bother…go on…go on and walk away.”
As years pass we wither and die. I feel like inside I scream and cry “Why can you not see that I try? That I’m faithful. I provide. Can’t you see that I’m still here? I come home to you every night. I yearn for you even when we bicker and fight.”