mental health · poem · poetry · recovery

daddy issues

I don’t know if I forgive you.

And maybe I don’t want to know.

Maybe our history sits like smoke

That won’t leave my lungs.

I don’t know how I want to die.

But man, smoke inhalation’s not really my jam.

And maybe the tendrils of your apology

Are filled with poison that rip my tears apart.

I don’t know if I want you in my life.

And maybe that’s where I need to be.

Or maybe this is another way you control me,

By offering something so worthless.

And maybe forcing my hand is another act

Of violence done with a smirk on your face.

love · mental health · poem · poetry · prose · recovery

Homecoming

I was homesick.

But not for our home. Not for the couch or the bed or the mess of living that is unique to it.

I was homesick for you.

For the glimmer of your eyes on a laugh. The confident way you touch me. The stability of your presence.

I was homesick for you.

For the casual way you tear down my walls. The way you challenge me to be better. The easy way you love me. The way you make it seem easy to love me.

I was homesick for you.

How happy I am to be home again.