This is not a poem about my father.



I grew up hearing your voice at night


Cussing at people, us, especially your dad


You would never stop till its morning


You would go to work revived


I would go to school sleepy


With your words in my head


Tears in my eyes


And pain in my heart




At first I can’t understand you pain


Your hatred to your father


Until I felt it for you


In my heart I am blaming you too


Cussing and hating


I realized that maybe this is a cycle


And I am part of a chain


That I would grow up


Like the person that I most hated:



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