his love
his rearing
was abandonment

throwing me into the sea to drown
but look, I swim, I swim


where is the point of reconciliation
where the hand grips
or the palm opens
where we have to deflate the life jacket
with faith
in hope
holding our own hearts
to let theirs grow

with every beat
every breath
trusting in the unknown
trusting in them to be able to rise to the surface
and tread walk back to safety
the next time
jumping in by themselves
making you feel this raft you built
was not pointless

salute to parents who try
sincerely reflect and try
who aren’t just yoyo’s of social engineering
who question everything
who question themselves more than anything

I can’t figure for the life of me
my fathers method
but it’s too late
I have my own to worry about
they’re more deserving of my concentration
than to figure out the nuances of me


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