Young Writers Society

Dear Father,

We came back in a full circle, haven’t we?

Me, on the window sill,

Picking at invisible spots on the glass.

You, by the fire, contemplating what could’ve been,

For me.

Unveiling the true face of resentment, beneath

A plastered smile, a lie whose eyes to see through it can only be mine.

Encouraging? No, more like a vengeful expecting.

You expect me to succumb to your desires,

A pawn in a game that only you can decide the outcome to.

I am a pet for you to train,

A treat for every deed I get right,

A punishment for what I do wrong.

I always think about your furrowed brows and grit teeth.

The menacing voice of someone who isn’t human,

Calling playfully for my name.

Each lash sent me to a world

Where I couldn’t feel a piece of myself being shattered every time.

You really take your time.

Again and again, reminding me of who I am to you,

Again and again and again.

While I return to this world, against that window,

I think of how my heart once ached of guilt.

For being delivered as an unwanted gift,

For killing the maker who couldn’t even see this gift’s beauty.

Now, it feels empty.

Empty of the love from a mother I hadn’t met,

Empty of the love from a father who couldn’t forget.

You thought that I would keep feeling guilty?

Well, not anymore.

...

Dear Father,

A dawn of what I thought would bring new possibilities breaks through.

But now, I only see the still-darkened landscapes beneath.

I’m sorry that you couldn’t see past your own pains.

I’m sorry that you couldn’t have faith

In seeing what could’ve lied ahead

For the both of us.

I’m sorry for making you try so hard

To carve me into one of those hidden spots on the glass

That barely needs to be glanced at.

Let me wipe it away for you.

With the glass window opened

For me to finally see clearly through,

These are my last words to you.