The Way I Feel
I'd like to rip you apart and rebuild you,
take out your brain and clean it, stop
and restart your heart after first breaking it
before he does - as you will.
I'd put you together - a clever likeness
of what I thought a daughter ought to be -
less irritatingly young, less sickeningly pretty,
a little less like me
as I was. It's hard to imagine now
how I could have been so foolish as to throw
my life away. Wisdom - why don't we have it
when we need it, instead of finding it too late?
I'd pummel your sweet face between my fists.
slap you senseless if I thought it would make a difference,
but all I can do is watch and wait, and wonder
why you will not listen. I didn't
set a good example. I thought you'd learn
from my mistakes.
Turns out it doesn't work like that. Turns out,
I'm only here to pick up the pieces in the end.
None of this will make much sense -
not until you have a similar conversation
with your own dear child, as I fear you will unless
you break the cycle. My only wish
is that you never come to understand
the way I feel today.