Dear Dad

Dear dad, daddy, father, pop;
I don’t know what to call you anymore.
What the hell is your name anyway?

I found a Father’s day card,
made for you when I was six.
It’s messy, colored outside of the lines,
covered in gold glitter that won’t stick.

It was left in the trash
when you were cleaning house.
I didn't think that it still hurt.
I guess rivers run deep.

How you must’ve felt when you
opened the envelope that day.
Forcing yourself to be grateful
and appreciative of something so lame.

I have a lot to be forgiven for.
Certainly you got more than you bargained for.
1:15 that Summer morning,
when you saw that unsuspecting, innocent baby you agreed to nurture and protect.

I’m sorry for all the lies.
trying to tell you what you wanted to hear,
not what was the truth;
shielding you from finding out who I really was.